Dead ends in every direction — the limits of a snake's tongue —
Blind mind feels its way through the grooves of the hole
Like they are accidents of design ...
That's the way it lives,
All sense and reaction, whatever is out there a black prompt
Which may or may not know, how tongues are predictable,
Draw limited conclusions, and how whatever crack is sensed
Can be re-sealed with ease ...
Is the perishable food, in a trap that sets it free.