Seven of them pinned in blood by
long, shiny tails, three of them still
alive and writhing against the wood,
their heaviness whipping the wall
as they try to break free,
rattles beating in unison,
hisses slowly dying in silence,
the other four hanging stiff
like ropes to another life,
patterns of torn skin dripping
with power and loss, the wonder
of who might have done this
turning in shock as all seven
suddenly come alive when
I get closer, pink mouths
trembling with white fangs,
lunging at me then falling back,
entangled in one another to form
twisted letters that spell a bloody
word I can’ t understand.