Tipping the napkin
swish!
Pizzeria logo,
spider and all
fall,
headlong into
obscurity.
Shivers roll in my skin;
there are spiders all over the ceiling
waiting to avenge their fallen
one.
I have problems killing
spiders:
creepy critters
with their eight legs,
scuttling all around, defying every
law of physics
sometimes hairy,
sometimes long,
they exert a strange sort of power –
Killing myself:
this is what I imagine each time.
Little me, crouched in a corner,
scuttling up walls,
down the bathroom
moulding –
evading the
inevitable.
Vulnerable, defenseless –
While we,
our empty lives,
carry on each day,
joyous in our dominance –
if probability had its way
I would be a spider too –
I would let you live too
as I would want to, scrambling
up these eggshell walls,
but I am afraid, I am
afraid;
You hide in my cups,
dance in my dreams,
thousand eyes
threatening;
they say killing spiders is bad
luck.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.
- Emily Dickinson