Even Spiders Die

But even halfcut spiders some damn how bleed their papyrus way towards the light to die, they later told me, from behind an aching searchlamp (onehundred watts, a blade brilliant tearmuse for my rapidwrinking visions) during that eonslong debriefing in our lonely hilltop geodesic keep So how'd you fell, they said, so far into shade, Sonnyboy But I don't dare hear them her hot tongues in my ear her smoky breath is mine Whose hand is this, they spat, Whose dotted tees, Whose crossing ayes -- these cramped and spiraled hieroglyphics denote a sanguine head And I sat back in my silence, smiled, and take my timetable from the membranous air