[Poem] Everything Belongs to the Spider

I
have book lungs for your knives
        I circle on the thinnest trap line
Gaze eight times before brunch
                          Upon the desiccated casts I left behind

                          Awaiting meals like
An antsy kid for a campfire ghost

Regrettably, this silky web
                   I wish would lasso  a rose-haired sunset

Snags
only
shriveled
dried shades
and pests
each
night.

                        But it will be mine,
someday.



Originally appeared in BARROW, 2009.