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.
for BD