Peoria, Tazewell, And Woodford: Here, There & Everywhere

What The Spider Drew by Mike Foster

WHAT THE SPIDER DREW

 

The spider carves a skull of white lines

And hangs a mask in your window,

A thin bone face

The spider drew for you.

 

You unstrap your leather manacle,

The band that bonds you to time.

You rub the strange white brand

Around your wrist, you walk away from what time it is.

 

Outside, trees click and sing.

Cicadas send communiqués

About the invasion; their bards strum chanteys

About the breaking off skin,

The redemption reached through

The cracking back.

 

Bodies whittle again the wall in fire,

Ash-white, torsos dancing against the wall

In the headlights’ blaze,

The fiery cone of a lantern

Pointed straight up to Rigel.

 

The spider is waiting inside

Next to your watch. Four trees of cicadas stop talking. You body

Splits open down the spine.

Something crawls out, flexing its wings.

 

26 August 1976—27 January 2016

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Information

This entry was posted on February 2, 2016 by in Mike Foster, Poetry, Uncategorized.
%d bloggers like this: