“Spider Bite”
It reminded me of my boyhood
in the Pacific Northwest,
that sense of the laundress—
which reminded me of my boyhood
in Los Angeles,
that sense of the boundless—
and I don’t care what the doctors say
when your mother paints a snowy picture
on your bedroom wall,
or we killed a mighty falcon
in our boyhood reverie,
or the spider bite:
a mountain of moles;
the fluid drips through your system
from its hairy jaws
mandibles wash up on the shore
of your spooned skeletons
relaxing in a beauty box,
or betray the hoax to a lavender ghost
he stops by the mirror sometimes
as if to redirect ancient wizards:
ghouls in their bird mobiles
a fair thorn away from here
pinpricked by your favorite goddess.
nicholauspatnaude 
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