Four Fold

(...a talisman, perhaps...)

Four fold and full of mirth,
words yield lack and dearth.
Dreams hold drams of killing kind,
coarse drink for healing cuts
of youth’s most mean mistakes,
cleaned now and nearing clever,
never wise but wistful ever.


(Remember The Rats and the Oysters?  This is what happened next...)

And then the spiders came for us.

We gave them our eye lashes 
and they wove them into their webs,
into the words of their world.

We wondered what they would look like
and they stole our eyes for it.

We gave then the cilia of our 
guts, but they wanted more.

They wanted the fat flagellum 
of all our faked identities.

We gave them the threads
of our thoughts and they 
traced the fine treacheries
of our limitations with them.

They felt the quivering
of every one of our nerves.

Our neurons became their prey
exactly where they came to rest,
sticking in the silk of their silences.

They spread their legs 
to embrace the all of us, 
especially those parts we did not 
want embraced,  They defiled
our own embarrassments and 
defied the lodgings of our throats.

They sucked the sins from our insides
and spun them into empty gags and 
blindfolds so that we might not witness 
the uselessness of our own suffering.

They machined our sadness, honed 
it to a poetically correct awareness 
of the watery silks of our existence.

Our will withers on the spine 
and the spine’s tinctures 
strangle our limbs in their time.