Dampening your window sill
dragging in a large spider
by its thorn-dewy shins,
you yowl heatedly.

The sheltering accomplice weaves a breakfast trap
from one end of your kitchen to the other.

The morning news comes through
a timepiece on your wrist;
a caterpillar has used your blanket
in the night
and is hanging with it in your closet,
changing.
"Time keeps on slipping into the future,"
said the wound-up news.

Your teeth are brushed

and neatly parted.
"Let my spirit carry me,"
prayed the spider when you cut its web down
with a pair of pruning shears.

And then it ate you:
it sucked your blood through column wounds in your back,
siphoning the digested burger of your heart.

The sucking couldn't stop, and the spider scarcely thought.

"Time keeps on slipping into the future,"
said the wounded timepiece on your wrist.

By lunch the caterpillar had welded to a false sun
wearing your best disco vinyls
and a tie
and a Christmas hat with antlers and hanging bells.

Your electric potential might have reminded angels
to wake you in the morning,

so a fresh moth's perfume has woken you from life this morning,
before lunch buffets, before the grand coin-op waffle iron rings,

by taking your bedclothes in the middle of the night,
and the two of you
follow Rapunzel's lover through the front door
and into the forest.

In the winter of my soul
the cold struck deep

in the deep of cold my soul

loved summer
in the vacuum of a moment

such snow was falling

rays tore a frost
on my only window

The wordless sun without even lips
smiles like a clown's head,
sinking like a balloon,
exhaling and rolling
pink and red
over clouds like hills and
mountains like waves
as
every eye turns to the first,
the blank radiant O

The letter A stands ready. Movement is beyond intention; A is thought.

The first is forward, of hands an apparition. Patience and offering move strength. A:boulder is an eye. A:constellation setting lifts A:boulder in A:basket made of thread.

The sun is breathing out the sea.

Two sails braking hunt are kites. The ships are god's own feet. He skates the sea and clouds his eye in crowding waves.

Gaia shivers with life

and I on her giant face—
.icropsia
m

Mind: a
game between
an
island and every-
thing
else