The pipe of an oil well; sorrows of men

Web of distribution, crippled to shreds 

Jell,  that we sought for; blood came instead

They all blame bladder effect

More pressure is money; kill line is there

The stakes are tempting, lamers  beware

Families are mourning your greed with tears

They all blame bladder effect

Gas for air, flames too can stirr

Turbines and gears failed to rebel

A burst of fire equals to hell

They all blame bladder effect

For 87 days,  blow out confessed

The Gulf of Mexico; victim unheard

210 million gallons of proof, appeared

It all started with bladder effect

Touch down to

Reality

Not exactly what you

Thought it'd be,

Trouble is that you're

Panicking

Do you think you'll take the

Time to breathe?

All that stress doesn't

Have a place,

But if peace exists it's

A lying face,

And life's a bitch that

You can't believe,

Only because you're always

Questioning,

But the week starts,

It'll be alright

Keep that in mind, on

These Tuesday nights

Rain keeps falling

Drizzling, dripping

Pattering upon my pane

Falling, falling

Ever falling

Gray and humid

Comes the rain

Days go past

Precipitation

Thrums and hums

And drums and numbs

I’m lost in aimless

Cogitation

Reason to the rain succumbs

Drops assault the ground

Relentless

Days become a week

Eventless

Soporific

Moist and soggy

Saturated

Dull and doggy

Dank and dreary

Wet and smeary

Cold and clammy

This? Miami?

Where’s the sun?

Christ! It’s December!

Yet the rain

Keeps falling down

Has it been a week already

That this rain’s been falling steady?

Trickling on without improvement

For some wicked God’s amusement

Show’ring on and on and on

Oh cease, I say

Anon, anon

Joints are creaky

And rheumatic

Water penetrates

My attic

Life’s become

So stark and static

Think I’m going to

Build an ark

Lord, I hope the time is nearing

When the sun will be appearing

And the clouds commence to clearing

And the atmosphere stops drearing

But I must confess I’m fearing

That this rain

Will linger on

And on and on

And on and on

I discovered a spider lurking in the corner

of my room. Yes, lurking--a word implying

criminal intent. These creatures are a clear and 

present danger to my peace and well-being.

This is my room, damn it. Why can't 

it just go back to where it came?

I read somewhere once, probably on the internet,

that Australia has something like eight million species

of spider; and most, if not all, are

so venomous that they can kill you with

just one glance. They just stalk in bushes, 

in your shoes, and under the toilet seat.

Now, I've never befriended a spider, don't know

enough about them to dispute this information. But,

anything that looks like that can't be anything

except a threat to me and society.

I am extraordinarily uncomfortable. While I realize this

is not Australia and there is plenty open

earth between here are there, aren't they all

related? Aren't they all the same by blood?

Honestly, my first reaction to finding this trespasser

is to reach for a shoe, or hammer,

a gun, or a match and a gallon

of gasoline. Yes, that's right--gas and flame.

Light it all up, burn it all down.

I wouldn't call this arachnophobia; instead, a valid

response to a perceived threat. I love living

here but I can't let my room stand

to further the spider agenda now, can I?

However, lately I've been trying to be more

present, to practice this radical idea where I

think before acting. So, I'm trying to not

react so harshly to things that scare me,

to things I don't understand... like spiders.

Why should I be afraid, anyway? I know

what I've read but are they that dangerous?

No spider ever confronted me in the streets

and beat, or shanked, shot, or robbed me.

In fact, I can't even verify as to

whether even one has even bitten me. Maybe

mosquitoes are just giving them a bad rap.

And no spider certainly ever threatened to take

my job. Let's be honest. I would never 

spin web. Have you seen how hard 

they toil at that? And for minimum wage?

I still want to reach for some tool

of destruction; but to stay my hand,

I devise stories about my intruder. Humanize it.

Maybe he doesn't even want to be here.

Maybe he really wants to reside on the soil

of his birth, but civil war sent him 

fleeing. Or he had to abandon home before

some bigger, scarier bugs knocked on his web.

Maybe he lost his job and he's out

looking for work but no one is hiring

and he needed to just stop and cry

because his web is just days from foreclosure.

Maybe he just has nowhere else to go

because his staunchly religious parents kicked him out

upon tragically discovering he's atheist; or worse, gay.

Maybe he is not even he. Maybe she

was born he but now identifies as she

and has been holding her bladder for hours

looking for a bathroom to use without all

of her spider kin going crazy over it.

Maybe she mad a wrong turn while heading

to a march against an over-reaching patriarchy

or is look for an open Planned Parenthood.

Maybe she's vegan. Maybe I'm not in danger.

Maybe I'm not as desirable as I thought. 

The possibilities are endless. Even if I don't

like spiders, even if I think they're monsters,

it's a lot harder to harm something when

you know it has a story. Maybe they

can be dangerous; but can't we all be

when threatened? This may just be a silly

poem about a spider, but I hope there's

a metaphor about something much bigger here somewhere.

I tasted those final hours

in the palette of days

before your passing

whilst you lay tormented

and spitefully mindless

me awake in dreams

of decay and frailty

selfishly owning that pain

and claiming it's stake

the foreshadow

as close as we ever came

to bonded intimacy

martyr, victim, nonsuch saint

I bought those stories

with my lack of currency

whilst breathing the cruelness

of your rancid unjust world

I paid your subordinate

when you fled this realm

that legacy was untenable

with vicious intent

raw breath, bared teeth

you left that gift of hell

amidst cup ringed tables

and yellowed photographs

Tears fell amidst final defeat

with no settlement of close

simply one last fuck you

from that faceless conjuror

who melded this unlikely union

stretching the fabric of insight

may have blinded my eyes

yet I now see through mirrors

mirrors.........

Admit it

You hate that they are fine

Without you

Admit it

You tell yourself you're strong

So you don't have to feel

Weak

Without them

Lingering

Were my kisses

Landing on your soft skin

Percolating desires

Your tiny hairs dancing on your neck

Poetry was written

All over you

Because 

You are my queen

A beautiful specimen

I'm driven towards you

Because

You are simply ravishing

K.j.a. (c) 2016

A form

Cosmic misbehaviour.

Or is it me

Misbehaving

against nature.

Or is nature itself

Misbehaving.

Or that actor on TV

Tom Cruise

Misbehaving.

Is it a sin to die?

Or is death

Misbehaving.

Lend me your carriage

To see

Who the hell is

Misbehaving

this harmonic chaos.

Maybe its my words

constantly

Misbehaving

my thoughts.

Or that lyricist

in constant agony.

Maybe its an evangelical

passage

misbehaving.

So once again

reader

what time is it?