Journey to Liskeard

The sour smell of sweat

lingers in the metal tube

where ants scurry to their seats,

governed by a muffled voice

that echoes down the throat

of a scaleless snake.

He slivers down a parallel path

adorned by fuzzy green

that clings to walls and telegraph poles.

Sunlight gleams off every leaf,

as if the trees bare gold

instead of seeds.

Wild grasses crowned

with floppy pink and purple hats,

wave in a gentle breeze

that cannot sway the riders

who travel in

the belly of the beast.