Poem: Tarantula

 Tarantula

 

clothed in ridge and limb and shadow,

the great brown tarantula with the patience of a cave

poises above a cramped valley,

where hectic people swarm in heat and greed,

never seeing the giant eyes up above,

layered in granite, or the teardrops of sandstone,

fallen beneath the serenity of sage.

before the people,

sabretooths latched onto mammoths.

and before that, the muscular wrestle of dragons

twined to rise mutilated from a burning cosmic womb.

so the tarantula was born,

hungry for the breastmilk of long lost stars,

a savor never to be revisited

when it preyed on seas and deserts

and banquets of fur, fin and reptile.

above its cordillera pulse,

blushing in fire and fervent of flood,

the tarantula watches

the spear of thousands of streetlamps,

while dreaming of the stars and their return,

as lost to hope as the hordes of fretful people

impaled in the darkness.

 

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The gods granted my wish.  Then said, "But you will languish in obscurity, crippled of consequence."