Grandmother Spider

Grandmotherly spinning yellow teeth, or a girl speaking a gibbering
combination of French, and Russian, and counting in Japanese, as

though each number where a spider leg, because I had a teacher
who taught it to me once. You are prophesizing that the equinox will

fall like a web, in surrendering upon the sunset - fall like a man
might across a woman, or vice versa, depending on which swollen

soul wishes to slide across the other first. I might have crawled to
you once, had other inclinations not taken root in me, though plainly

and without remorse I look on the red-faced dawn of October and tell
you that nothing can be restarted, nothing can move back to its shapeless

beginning, nothing can change from progressive to a standstill. Nothing
can be undone, as it stands forever awkward and assailing, aspiring, as time

does to trigger destiny into the holster of a gun, shot shyly of meaning.