personal vipers

This was originally posted to Yum Yum Union.

There’s a certain helplessness to personal vipers — and yet usefulness
in the venomed arsenal, the piece that would part the rest.
Amputation over integration. Rogue, unreasoning,
but how solid amid so much mired ‘maybe.’
Makes me want to hold up the meanest mirror
I can manage, say: these are the rules you play by!

“Personal vipers?”

Don’t you have snakes on the inside? Sear ceramic? That unmoving
element, the unforgetful, unforgiving? Makes you want to go
on, unrelenting, forever? An angry thought that won’t get back in the box,
a judgment so petulantly un-dynamic. The fist is curled.
The marble, cut. Usually springs up for moral false-moves, but it
bites less righteously, kicks the dog — any mutt whatsoever.

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