Spider Spit

Tears drip, stinging bees,
rusted legs, and a sad
smell stuck to the bottom
of a sunken boat,

men strike billows of
blood, buckets and mud,
and she waits alongside
a yellow wall, tinged in
harpsichords, musty and
encyclopedic — aloft,
singing brazenly, because

tomorrow is a muse, and

we are nothing but a
chorus of bad lines and
drunken nights, sad yet
sick, and singed by light,
even though much

can be said about skin
memory, never do we dare,
unless we peach kiss a
burrowing rat, send
it sailing around the earth,
gasping for air like mold,
wrapped inside velvet
paper, indelible and sweet,
a song for the ages, but,

like Brautigan said:

It’s so nice
to wake up in the morning
all alone
and not have to tell somebody
you love them
when you don’t love them
any more.


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~ by Shawn M. Young on July 25, 2016.

3 Responses to “Spider Spit”

  1. “a sad smell stuck to the bottom of a sunken boat” — evocative. I could actually smell something briny. That’s the kind of writing I enjoy. Thank you for sharing, you earned a follower!

  2. Yes!

  3. damn, that closing stanza…

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