quiet, the spider legs are sprung in reverse
kept precious in bony packages in dark corners

they herald armies of similar shapes
those tibiae dry and white, which rise from rocks
and never sound for battle

those little rubbed-raw knees of white
girls, orange blush of racing blood
beating shy conquest throughout the veins

all quiet, these paradisal daggers
their gazes are averted
but they all have eyes
spider eyes, iris-less and alien, yet familiar
as a young dog gazing at the newborn world

03/03/2007

Posted on 03/03/2007
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