The Surrogate

Was thinking of you as I pissed
the chardonnay out, black exile
to sewage. Was thinking of you
and the trusts – thrice taken
that garner no warmth,
but shudder my torso
in the steam of it. And then,

Soft-bodied and filament,
a spider reared up,
pin-legged,
from behind the tank,
and topped the unset clock,
flashing twelve and twelve
and twelve again.

And with my one hand free
I plucked it up, loose-pinched
between my thumb and index,
held it up before the mirror,
before the medicine cabinet mirror
and the lights, buzzing connections
bad as daybreak and drought.

And there, high upon the temple,
and the white slopes below I began:

“Take upon thee this innocent.
Take, that I may strike from this mind,
this morning and each morning hence,
these bleak and waterless clouds.
And let me nevermore plunder
such innocence for a larger cleansing,
that each, true to its nature must be.”

And thus, this spider and you,
dropped ritual upon the waters,
yellow and foamed, spun
quickly down the trap,
and a clean sun droned.

Image: Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: