By Softserve
my wife rolls over
and tells me
to go to sleep.
i’m afraid to.
if i allow my body
to let go,
i might not be able to
bring it back.
she says i worry too much,
but i don’t want any spiders
to bite me while i’m asleep.
they say that spiders
crawl over you
and try to drink
from the corners of your eyes.
it’s what that song is about.
we used to play that song
as hard as we could,
and i would throw my body around
w/ wreckless intent
at bars,
in front of our country’s finest.
now i sweat in my bed
and swat at every tickle,
hoping to crush any and all
possible bugs.
i try to imagine why it rains–
how i am stuck on this
spinning rock, where,
for whatever reason,
sometimes it rains
and sometimes it doesn’t.
maybe it will tonight
and the spiders
can go to puddles
and get fat on the water
and leave my poor sleeping
carcass alone
w/ my tragic brain wondering,
trying to let go.

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