A whale’s tale sent me to a room
wherein civic spirit predominated
the stench of fish guts.
In nature’s name, and for one’s self,
how does aplomb transcend the cave,
where is this nexus without a pearl.
How fruitless is the monster who
emerges from the shadows naked
to barter with their appeal to senses.
A hypnotic dance in lurid light.
There is no guise about the serpent,
but self-deception to its observer.
One catches more flies with honey,
and kills more slugs with vinegar.
She wasn’t wrong to trust the snake.
Snake was wrong to trust his apple.