Serpents twist in biblical gardens, snakes around mystics’ staffs. The human eye sees the spindling strands and cannot comprehend the nature of the aberration before it, limbless wonder terrifyingly fascinating. The seeking of dimensional variance gets jarringly halted by a unidimensional monster. There is no body, no identification, no point of reference once the middle is grabbed, perhaps an inch from the end or perhaps to continue tortuously into labyrinthine coils, a predatory trail that might culminate in a tail, or a venomously fanged head, or simply extend into infinity.

I hate measuring spaghetti portions.