I dug out spiders, roughly
from the sand, a parcel
underneath the playground’s
lands, I need it, me
just to know
how cold it is
when there is snow,
in the sunbathed
mathematic
material tragic,
what world
have you astrally projected
the drain
that filters pain?
that troubled life force of
yours
becoming manic,
Lingering burnt hair
witnessing deliberately wasted
selfishly empty mind stare,
dead red foxes,
sending signals of heaven
from the bottom of
sewer pipes
How can you, love of life
not even care?
the light
shining from inside
speaks of magic, sparkle dust
mimicking
life, for what is a fine pair,
like one half of the body
to the other
it too was stuck
in looping time created
concrete, love one another,
how soon until
I’ve conquered rocks?
So, I dig for silkworms
under plastic slides,
I hunt for rabbits
under swings,
I poach the furs of bears,
with miniature cranes,
the marvelous engineered machinery
of hydraulic slaves,
and the spiders dig into my brain,
whispering, spinning cobwebs,
screaming,
“Quit defecating upon your mother /
Earth is the galaxies playground /
shout a peaceful phrase / for tis
a universal sound wave daze.”