Spiders in Our Sleep

If my
foundation was
apathetic as my rise,

I’d be cynical, too.

Kill it with fire!
I’d scream at the spiders,
but not talking to
them directly, only
box flaps and books I’d consider
using as weapons
when the only thing that keeps me
separate from them
is size, and
fewer eyes to digest
sight.

And yet, I never reached for flame itself so
not to burn my house down over critters.

And therein’s the problem
fighting for change,
it defames you of
every cause like
bullets straight from God,

wiping our
complacency clean,
but sterility is a bitter
pill for the palette,
and it leaves the
tongue calloused,

no balance to swallow like
spiders in our sleep.

For words to wage across
a burning river,
water full of jagged teeth,
does not a
constructive suggestion make,
and I’d hate to
forfeit
conversations that
help me understand you, and
vice versa,

no matter how many
sleepless nights it takes.

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4 thoughts on “Spiders in Our Sleep

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