Bodies fly by, top rope breathless, lungs wheeze out for air full nelsoned by two king cobras nesting in majestic nirvana knowing that once all things are said and done we are all going dancing around your grave like a dead/decaying display of decadence when the seven brown skinned men pick back up their flutes calm all snakes shall become even though for that harmonious second I felt like we’d caught a fast one maybe the last one contemporary academics can postulate if anyone ever again will have one