tarantula crawled slowly beneath the vine of the soul voices drifted darkly spirits in repose said that not one thing stays the same words of inspiration where nothing is to blame pilgrims migrate to the sound of a horn originally didn't stork take the new born must be something that i ate mainly mushrooms, cylocybate nevertheless something told me leaving no debate our wise and giving mother we first scorned then we ***** was a guitar sound that got me it played out of tune like an octave burning slowly a red flame but cold ember over a sparse and lonely moon she crawled over careful venomous hairs across her back a calculated movement the spider who caught the cat its not the fangs that scare me a wise but ugly man once said its the fear we inject like a venom working slowly it seeps till at first you can't move and eventually your dead.