Tuesday, January 31, 2006

the spiders come out after the wet

A shaking spine in the shingles, and those that danced to think themselves of it. Beholding the moving creature. With it spitting from its peppery throats, muses of teeth and chewing tabacco. Covering and rubbing themselves down in safron. Laughing, they were made red by the swells of beeds in our arms, tapping together for rhythm. While we were looking up it swayed and moved. Stamping its many feet in the corners of the kindling covered then darkend floor. When suspended it would gladly take its opportunity to leave the ground and any chance that our together music made.When it hung from here, there was no motion and no hardened clay from which to drink. We were only made to sleep via the wires silking spiders.


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