Tonight I'm an awkward green boa,
Who destroys colonies of ants,
Among the soggy green brush.
Slither toward massive trunk of a tree,
Dried, old and forlorn,
Enticing without cause.
I commence to coil.
Mechanical muscles,
Pump in unison,
Halfway to the top.
Faint crackle of wood splitting,
And as we tumble,
I forgive the dead wood.
Hundreds of shattered ribs,
There on the jungle floor,
Where neon insects secretly war.
Giovanni: Whoa, chill out buddy. Nobody's feigning deepness. It was a dream I had.