I ride in the belly of a worm
Shai-Hulud, the Maker
Carries me past hill, forest,
Tunnel and building
In the belly of the Worm
There are pale blue chairs
And overhead lights
Illuminating the faces
Of those who travel within
Water-fat
Not a stillsuit among them
The maker groans steel on steel
And glides on South
Shai-Hulud's sides are glass
Through them I see clouds
And ocean
But the worm feels them not
Nor does it roam free
Devouring the sand
In plumes of spice and oxygen
Shai-Hulud follows trails
Laid for it by man
Down tunnels hollowed out
Long ago through brick and
Stone and concrete
And I ride Shai-Hulud
South
Half-brother to Freemen
Though surely they would have taken
my water
At Stitch Jenin
Or Stitch Yata
Where we roamed the sand
In little makers topped with
.50 caliber guns
And now the wheels turn
And the worm creaks and clanks
And shudders and shakes
I have with me only a change
Of clothes, a book and a pen
No stillsuit gloves my body
No maker-hooks in my hands
In the belly of the Worm
I ride Shai-Hulud to Fremont