(after the painting by Armin Boehm)
Spiders crawl
the surface of our skin
spell obscenities of silk
its color, their color, ours
the undulating movements of a snake
greens and blues, brilliant reds
exploding into hyacinths
to painted tortoise shells
to arms and legs
extending from fluorescent lights
in spiraling words
we speak in circles, knots
palindromes and tongues
we interview the moon
to know the existential truth
of loneliness
how time bleeds dreams
that dream kaleidoscopic eyes
we wonder why
we wonder why the moon
is mute.
Burlesque Press 