Basilisk by Herb Kauderer

Herb Kauderer

there is no sweeter feel
than hard rough rocks
scraping your belly
as you slowly drag yourself
into some hidden crevice

these humid, dark days
are best for hunting

farther from water
prey can be lulled into
a security that seems justified
until a glint
of lizardly amber eyes
freezes the unwary

the clever seek to turn the tables
attacking from above or behind
but the result
is the same

whether by touch
or gaze
they all become your toys
hard works of art to feed
your brittle awkward soul



This entry was posted in Fantasy, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply