Spider Eggs

There is heartbreak in select Mexican cuisines,
And fear in sticks casting erections in the water.

Boy Meets World twitches cockroaches in my floorboards;

Perhaps better off than rusty snake cages housing empty beer cans.

Sepia night grafts sing strange sounds of sound strangers on the coast,

Because that’s what they are,
And sandy edges bleed strangeness always after.

Boyfriend parking lots gun the vomit stream,

But so do tomatoes.
It’s all the same fire gut engulfed.

Heart beat tremors vibrate like old times of birth and thirsty death,
And you’re a child again.

Even day folding into black construction paper

Where I hide and hold my legs
Hints at when you called me a saint,
And I turned out to be embarrassingly  mortal.

Some uncles don’t keep their hands to themselves,

And 20-year-old sex-talk puts his hands back
Just as sweaty as ever.

Acidic spine stole her father in shapes.

He echoes at television news programs,
Cursing the gays when the Catholics are on
And cursing the Catholics when the gays are on
And cursing both when Obama is on,
And he said the living room isn’t a porn store
And that 17-year-old’s are 26-year-old crack-peddlers,
And mother didn’t want to ‘people-watch’ at Starbucks,
And the walls rot.

50 year old woman gets hotheaded with her head in the oven,

But only as long as Superman has capes,
And can she even bake?

8^th graders equipped with kitchen knives cut love into their girls,

Made their names big for a holy return of larger shadows
Which are in everything.

Tiny red-potato feet stepped puddles in bellies once,
But eyes closed, reincarnations forced shut,
And these are even in jelly beans.

Like spider eggs,

These experiences are tucked, grown, and birthed in our dark places.
Stomachs and chest cavities make caverns for them where they grow tainted.
If an old sneaker kicks, they all go spouting eight-legged nostalgic tidal waves,
And we can’t hang.

Crawlers hunt and haunt.

Build a web.