My brain is a graveyard
Where cobwebs collect
Through gyri and sulci
The harvestmen tread

The widows float down
Painted black and red
Armed with venom
And needle and thread

They sing as they spin
A chanty of doubt
Stuffing my skull
Til ghosts leak out

And when they have
All had their say
And my spine grows centipede legs
And crawls away

I sink sink sink
Into the ground
And even the arachnids
Cannot draw me out.

We were going for a walk, sea view, ocean blue.
But the tree needed cutting, can't have work on the mind.
Need to make sure that troubles left behind.
Should've done it months ago.
Ladder up.
Wires plugged.
Cutters out.
In the name of a neat garden for gorgeous nights when the sun is still bright.
Picking leaves, off The ground we dusted Wednesday dawn.
Yanking up crops crawling with harvestmen.
But wait, the holly bush needs doing too.
Should've done that days ago.
Dad does that.
As we sweep on.
Waving at friends.
Walking the wasps in the way.
They might sting.
"Don't bend, it hurts your back".
Mum says.
Advice never works.
The leaves go on.
More holly teams down.
Oh well, the journey of a thousand miles starts with one step...
Then another...
Then another...
Then another...
****, ****, bang, bang.
The chainsaw wires cut.
We had those for years.
So I keep my mouth shut.
Destroyed in a millisecond.


Our cat sat as calm as Confucius
From the sidelines, onlooking our endeavours.
A kitten kicking a katydid like a kid.
Confused, but definitely not concerned.

But wait, the wild flowers need watering.