Never to Dream of Spiders

Time collapses between the lips of strangers   

my days collapse into a hollow tube

soon implodes against now

like an iron wall

my eyes are blocked with rubble

a smear of perspectives

blurring each horizon

in the breathless precision of silence

one word is made.

Once the renegade flesh was gone   

fall air lay against my face

sharp and blue as a needle

but the rain fell through October   

and death lay a condemnation   

within my blood.

The smell of your neck in August   

a fine gold wire bejeweling war   

all the rest lies

illusive as a farmhouse

on the other side of a valley

vanishing in the afternoon.

Day three day four day ten   

the seventh step

a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary   

flameproofed free-paper shredded   

in the teeth of a pillaging dog   

never to dream of spiders   

and when they turned the hoses upon me

a burst of light.

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