Poetry Issue 15

   Issue #17 : July-December 2012

Peter Richards



The Fighting Spiders of Bogeo


      There is that glass hull of sated people
      who traffic in cardinal death.
      Death always saying you've made
      cardinals of us all, even though we have not.

      In death the sod walls of Vinland
      stand before me sixty head thick
      and to the North free of contagion.
      An orb weaver can pass through

      quicker than thinking.
      She has august-thin legs
      and a head that is truly human-facial.
      An orb weaver can pass through

      only when eating cardinal brain.
      Quick little vents appear
      in between cardinals, suggesting
      if worship alone could force stem folds

      to go meiotic, still I would not worship.
      If one could learn to palpate her dove-gray
      colander pulses, still I would not palpate.
      The ray spider speaks softly at first--

      neutral sentiments designed to calm:
      WE ARE ONE FROM THE SEASON NO SPIDER SHOULD ASK THIS.
      In the evening she becomes more intimate:
      TO ME YOUR EYES ARE AS IMMUTABLE

      AS TWO CRUSHED SPIDERS RESSURECTED FOR VENGEANCE.
      Eventually she just bites you
      and after days of drinking your sleep
      retires to her own little nook in the vestment

      visually recalling three or four things.