there are cobwebs above
my bed,
and not in a metaphorical
sense
I’m staring up at them
and they mean something
really
or they should
I should care
and I do
but my head is
half buzzed
and four a.m. is
a couple of
blinks away and
well
the walls are the right shade
of clay
like the word Arizona
and the crickets are trilling
songs
on violin spurs
as the ceiling slips away
and my eyes are heavy with
desert
and the cobwebs
endure
another poem