A spider's living in the pipes
of my summer Dover home
and though I share no gripes
I still am asking him to go
He shows no signs of venom
to my simple, human eye,
but still, I have no serum
for what toxin he might apply
his eight long legs still haunt me
I see them peeking from the drain
and into my eyeballs
oh the horror, shout the pain!
His sight's enough to paralyze
the bravest of the bold
but even when I grow fat and old
I'll see him gouging out my eyes!

Get HIGH
Like 50,000 feet high, start doing jumping jacks until you're dead tired & inhale like there's no tomorrow,
face it, there aint one, so just
Spread out and cool off where the Strato & Mesosphere meet,
I know a guy who can hook you up, he looks shady but he's good, and besides he's got connections to some solid S-Rank Ozone,
we're talking military grade,
stuff that makes you think you got wax wings dig?
Yeah, snot impossible these days to make it look any cleaner than it did since last era, the last time we inhaled
  fresh air,
its funny how one only misses that thing when its gone, but then if there's another way for nostalgia to function i'm all ears.

I have felt the sting
of a thousand killer bees,
and allowed my heart to sieze
upon the beatings of their wings.

Letting my mind wander for a moment a semifamiliar memory cropped into view,
In it a strange hand wrote on a scratchpad, three letters that spelled out:
EYE OWE YOU

It wasn't the plan
to bite the man
and leave his hand
in strips and strands


I wanted no part
in devouring your heart
and it wasn't smart
because your heart was ****.

the sea grabbed bodies, theirs and mine flaming foaming tendrils
ahold of the drifting timber trying to keep gripping, hanging
holding high salt stripped throat shouting Unhand Me, Body-
You'll not have us tonight, but the sea made  belly sounds,
bleeding even the pilot, head slipping to the murk my blood
the envy, finally fell out inside and I sank to the floor with the timber and rope-the final moments of vision the setting horison the eye and perhaps an illusion; not-blak sails drifting steady my head vapor shroud eating the sun I fell into the lap of my love, my Mathilda- royalty to seakelp and fog looking on both irises jupiter and mars and thanking the stars furyos vixens above and she stood and she smiled not-blak sails- I admired her silver linen train but a din like desperate men shouting loosed me from my vision; they had seen the sails and all surrounding the lot tantalus's envy the pilot's hands raving Not today! Not today! They feared hotel raft a permanent lodging, jumping, frightened, killing themselves their poor salt-seasoned hearts drifting again more than them no signal observing the sails flurrying trumpets it might see us-it might, it might!