byTiffany Midge
- In the evening
I rescue a spider
clenched like a socket
on the teeth
of my keyboard.Later, I dream of eggs.
I plot them in glass boxes,
their pure round
labor in the forced square.
I experience guilt.the yellow stain of it
borders on the absurd.
Yet, I swallow it in
like sour lemonade,like raw eggs,
like a spider.
© 1997 Tiffany Midge
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