Fingers of the Underworld

The insanity on a foodless boat that haunted a coastal man
had, when rescued, a corpse and scrimshaw skull of a whale,
the only way he returned to his family.
With the skull telling of the danger of the sea's undeath floor
and the shadows that were in front of the flowing eyes
with every dry sea wind.
By the reading of the fourth tooth in the head,
the best idea was to bury the bloke
next to the head in the way he'd died.
This became a haven for snakes
in this mound where Beezle's fingers stretched out of holes
to sun themselves and worry everything.
Rocks were tossed to smash heads
and break the backs but the snakes had
unbreakable sea wind in them from reading the entire skull.
In an old church meetings went on
to draw lots on who would axe the snakes.
Time and again the snakes would dodge a bite lobbed faith's toll
and feared sorrow.

Barricades were crawled over like fog on a hill.
A clay spattered cup maker ran into the church
with an idea on clay hooves.
A trojan horse orthodoxed with stomping snake
cracking flame dripping hooves pushed up the little hill gravesite.
Frightened snakes saw the horse and vacated
or crawled down into the underworld to cry.
The other inhabitant, flattened most likely,
but his body a shadow anyway -
walking over the waves -
somewhere, swinging those snakes.