Centipede

I purchase a cent of tree tickling limbs

My colour deathly orange and opaque black

Linger by the view of a passbyer, like a contrasting illusion taking command of eye

I, the foreign, toxic wriggler, scuttle on the backs of corpses

I, the wink of satin, distracter of forest ally

Bark, vain rivered with pungent scented poison

In past Cretaceous gifted increasing heights on insectile fiends

We grew like black bamboo in open jungle terrain

I, the curls of cavern, dipping the depths of nightmare

The scent of I is a rib strangling pollution of corrosive acid fume

The start of my name is only a fragment of what you find under tree barked dovet