take me haustellum city

 

 

 

there's a brown spider living under

the Quaker Oat meal boxes that

just hates me, but i'm tolerated

because I do comb my hair backwards

only to leave little balls of scalp

and follicle for her haute couture.

And you should see the way she

treats the Black ants, bending back

her uterus, her cervix, wrapping

them so tight to tuck away; so fussy

with her neat ant package. Knowing

each name, each past history to explain

their present predicament. I can't remedy

the evil consequences, so when It's time

for their eternal rest I take refuge

in the warm sky and imagine the

butterflies have

visited.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

It takes a marvelous set of observation skills to ponder an ant's demise in a spider's jaws long enough to give the spider a personality, make it interact with the observer, and give the ant a personal history worthy of condemnation. To then render the scene in detail just gruesome enough for the day. I imagine the butterfiles in your world are the size of kites, too- they have to be.

I wonder, does your title refer to the shells of gold, or to the actual city in the Phillippines?

[writing mojo]

I love the way you shake the rhetoric bare bones and give every day living, no longer the hum drum but melodic serial data, to be commuted in the realms of instinctual existence with out a control alt delete to follow ...bravo

[Corset]

She sells sea shells by the sea shore? I've been thinking about trying my own hand at making shell jewerly,
but you'd have to find the perfect shell, day after day after day, I don't think I could stand up underneath that kind of perfection envy, I'll just stick to painting them with nail polish, ooing and awing over the minor flaws that make them beautiful to me :) Kinda like I do you:)

[Tree]

that beauty can find itself living under the Quaker Oats, and that the author was able to translate that image, (as he saw it) speaks directly to the poet's talent; imagination, and skill. I don't like to kill anything anymore either, you just know deep down in your heart if it didn't have to die yet you killed then it's wrong. A good poem, one that highlights a little tragedy, but also a whole lot of humanity, too.