there are spiders on the sidewalks and they’re roughly the size of god.
with knives sticking, legs kicking, i am turned around
in a downtown building, eyes watering.
remember me when i’m not falling.

pushing the kids around
he is remarking me in a whole new way, summing me up in no words.
question why you did this, why you did your best to keep me soundless—
i don’t blame you for it.

you’ve kept the poets justifiably mindless—
pictures without much color, heads in baskets.
we are going home.
we are roughly the size of god.
we will bring breezes for you, count our many pieces, clockwork pieces.

there are spiders on the shorelines and they’re roughly the size of god.
they’ve kept the poets beautifully hopeless—
treasures without much shine, bodies in caskets.