poem of the day 09.11.09

to the spider on the wall

i don’t have time
for this today
this crawling and sitting
and then crawling again.
i don’t have time to have
a causerie with you.
i’m hungover again
on beer and wine and whatever else
and so i guess for argument’s sake
we’re both a little bit redundant.
but at least i’m trying
to do my job here
for christ’s sake
not let my eyes stop
and linger upon you
the way you’re doing me
you ugly, gray, vile, hairy beast.
you’re just waiting.
and for what?
i should murder you
just to prove a point
make you a shit-stained ink blot
on this wall
my own rorschach test
but i don’t have the heart today
or do i?
you see, i swirl and do cartwheels
in my own disgust, little spider,
i suck my own blood
until i have nothing left to give.
so don’t try me.
but you sit there so clueless
so still and patient
like a buddha or a damned fool
waiting on a common housefly.
which one is it, huh?
buddha or fool.
which one will you be, spider,
hanging there,
your life essentially resting in my hands
while mine dangles in the mitts
of so many faceless others
people who care less about me
than i do about you right now.