a spider
lowers herself
down to the lamp
in the bedroom
of an entomologist
he smiles at her
and says,
“I’m off
for the night, sorry”
Poetry
I’m working on writing a thousand poems. I started in April 2015.
Poem #831
at the end
of the hall
she left
herself
the light
of lore
was nothing
but
disguised
darkness
Poem #830
I’m not sad today
and it feels
just a bit quiet
in my head
I can actually hear
the music in my ears
maybe what I seek
is not happiness
but peace
I had forgotten
what this feels like
Poem #829
we sleep,
our backs pressed together,
except I’m not really asleep
I’m listening to your nervous breathing
you had a bad day
I don’t know how to make it better,
so I wedge myself
more snuggly against your back
than is accidentally possible
hoping that maybe
dream-you will know you are safe
Poem #828
last night I remembered
that I was a bird with a broken neck
lying on the pavement
waiting for the mercy killing,
I have been waiting so long
that another bird smashed into the window
and now lays paralyzed beside me
Poem #827
I’m gonna be sad either way
might as well capitalize on it
Poem #826
I have more than a few apps on my phone that
I no longer touch, because winning is pointless
the dripping
that is what’s gonna kill me
thick disillusionment oozing down
spreading out
over my skin
it’s nothing but a game
and I like winning
but after a certain point
I have enough experience
that quitting is preferable
Poem #825
it’s only a matter of time
until the whale beaches itself
Poem #822 & #823 & #824
my body hair
is protection
against a subset
of assholes
my makeup-free face
is protection
against a subset
of assholes
my frowning face
is protection
against a subset
of assholes
Poem #821
the haunts stretch
and slip
over the walls
down the stairs
into the basement
to fester
for a few decades
until a plucky eight year old
goes exploring