by Josh Olsen


I offered to weed – an excuse to look for snakes. Always looking for snakes. The pet I wanted but never got.


The Bassett hound caught heart worm, hamsters and fish died – I wanted something I could feed those other animals to.


Something that could turn on me without warning – bite or strangulate without conscience.



At five, I experienced my first recurring nightmare – falling from an examining table, cracking my head on the linoleum, a thin black snake slid out from the open wound.


Ever since, I’ve been trying to put it back in there.



I tired of pulling dandelions and thistles and my mind began to wander. I remembered things forgotten …


my step-cousin squeezing toothpaste into his sister’s vagina, my mother screaming as she caught him, about a week later, my first wet dream …


I accidentally grabbed the tail of a bull-snake and squealed – she was so fucking beautiful!

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