Time is a Snake, Redux
I slipped out of your grasp. Your hands were too clammy,
too clasping, too grabby. But you didn’t really want to embrace me,
and I get it. I wonder if you thought me scaly or slippery or slimy.
But I slithered into you, or I will, in another reality, another dream, another time.
See, time is a snake, and it is my snake, at least with you.
I started writing this just after posting Time is a Snake and keep coming back to it, tweaking it. I’m tweaked out, so here ’tis.
By writing about these bizarre characters, I’m finally learning to break free of the notion that writing about “I” and “you” or “she” or “he” doesn’t have to mean I’m writing, even vaguely, about anyone I really know. I shoulda figured that out in high school, second year college English tops. Sheesh. Still learning the basics at age 64.