Fat backed spider

Fat backed spider,

perhaps stuffed with

offspring,

or innards rendered liquid.

Wide like summer mood, heat

waves drifting, out and up,

fighting solidity.

Folded grass, not quite cut by

dull bladed mower, mower

pushed by swollen knuckled

paws.

Quakes in ground, above head shattered

light thrusting through charged cloud,

a fire wind here, a cold breeze there.

A web of moment, twisting violently

through footfall and eye level

speech.

Pollen thick as sand, creating web in lung

and stiff, struggling breast.

Thin spiders too, bundled in silk,

back like wheat tip, eyes hidden.

Dogwood stink, the life fluid of the season,

cotton colored nodes of bright but

empty detritus.

That mood, whispering warm, raising voice to cool,

and all for what?

For us, no. For us, certainly not.

We are of that mood, of the wind that

shakes branches from trees, branches like

trunk born June bug legs, of trees

that some think theirs, but trees

like spider backs; no mans thing,

strong in its being one, one of other,

one of all.

 

Copyright 2015

Logan Mikal White-Mulcare

One Thought on “Fat backed spider

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