The Kingdom of the Spiders

Sometimes at night, on my way to sleep
As the birds start to crow, I visit the kingdom of the spiders
Where I plan intricate murders
Vast schemes of revenge for crimes not yet perpetrated

   against my person

Or let the bullets fly randomly, from a concealed vantage point

on a height

Calls are made from a safe phone

Requesting officers be sent to this addresss

Where I lie in wait, with a rifle and bad intentions

And no cause, save the continued independence

               Of the kingdom of the spiders

In the kingdom of the spiders, my partners never speak

They indulge my desires silently or ecstatically

According to my whim, which they are sensitive enough to discern

Without my having to explain it in so many words

They weep sometimes . . . but that's okay, just this one time

The kingdom of the spiders is shattered by sleep

In the kingdom of the spiders, resentments build webs

Fantasies take wings, and are ensnared

Jokes tend to be cruel in the kingdom of spiders

Dreams are no consolations

They skirt too close to the surface

And star the same characters, over and over again,

        with no resolutions

Actions are without motivation in the kingdom of the spiders

Nothing is forgotten there, and nothing is forgiven

Candles flicker behind screens

Time is measured in the drip of water on stone

I'll never tell the way to the kingdom of the spiders

The kingdom of the spiders is eternal and fleeting

It never was and always will be

Was never meant to be so, yet proceeds according to plan

Only the lonely never visit there

It is older even than doubt and guilt and cowardice

Newer than betrayal

Older than age is the kingdom of the spiders

Wishes are stronger than words in the kingdom of the spiders,

       stronger than deeds

Regrets overcome courage, which lies broken

The drunkard in his self-pity . . . is lauded for his fellowship

The whore commended for her honesty

God gambles on the house in the kingdom of the spiders

Never is he asked to put up a cent of his own

The rot begins in the kingdom of spiders

Cancer is made there, and placed within

The kingdom of the spiders is where love comes to die, to decay

And is made to confess to uncomitted sins

Placed upon the rack and tortured in the flesh

While nuns deceive their husband

And the children are punished for running wild

There are no judges in the kingdom of the spiders

They are not needed

The air is fetid with aggrievance, and damp

You suffer there for the sins within you that stayed within,

              never committed 

Leaving you shapeless as the fog

No nepenthe nor rum can shroud the kingdom of the spiders

In the kingdom of the spiders no one sees you for what you are
And you see all too clearly
There are no words to express what you feel
No noises you can make
The only laughter in the kingdom of the spiders is without mirth
Of a cruel and knowing kind

The spiders will not hurt you
Just hold you down, and torment you for a while
They feed on self-loathing and doubt
Excite paralysis
Poetry is written in the kingdom of spiders