Thursday 10/30/2008 12:22:00 AM

The spider was counting. The strands of its web. Imaging it full with errant flies. The spider doesn't have to explain why it kills. It's obvious.

Because it can.

She was using her eyes to measure the moon. Pupils wide. Chemicals the catalyst. Time always a culprit. When memory is the judge. The Moon. It being the counterweight on the scales of darkness. Pulling the tight clothes onto it. Touch. A ragged doll. Limbs threaded together with random knots.

The pantomime of love. Its invisible box. Pretending to hold me captive. The witch grins. As I suck on her candy walls.

Come inside she says.

There's much more to learn from within the oven.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.