诗歌

The spider that wasn’t When I was sleeping Things get dark Every sound was great and small Then there was a scratching sound Tiny legs Furry legs Crawling... On the window, on the floor, on my bed Legs were sticking on the bedsheet Getting closer Cannot move, but yet able to feel It was on the arm The tiny burrs rubbed against the skin on my arm It was on the shoulder Pedipalps scratching the cloth of pajamas It was on the neck plump and round abdomen rubbed against the vein It was on the ear, It was in the ear. Monday The world was cut into eight pieces Like an apple pie smashed on the ground And ants move them away One eye sees the body lying on the bed One eye sees the body was sunken in the water One eye sees it was a disaster One eye sees it was a normal day And the rest of them can see the noise Tuesday It was moving inside my veins Thousands of rubber ropes interlaced, Interwoven vibrating with each other. Sizzling. The fault current cannot be stopped Wednesday The smell of burnt protein, gasoline leakage and feather fat Surrounded me The dangers are coming The danger is here I can do nothing ,but to wait until they are gone Thursday I taste something Maybe it was cereal, maybe it was a dead butterfly Sweet, taste like dried wheat Raw and fresh, the wings were ripped off, the scale powder dissolves in the mouth Had a butterfly in my stomach Friday Went to see a doctor These senses were all illusions Nothing is real, nothing is inside me Chelicerae, pedipalps and a beating heart is fictitious tried to dig through my skin with my finger to find where it went. But it stretched out legs from the other side of my veins. Saturday Pesticides. Sunday Spider is gone. Is spider gone? Spider, spider, spider. The itchy it remains The doctor said there’s nothing there But something crawls beneath my skin There are legs inside my hair A guest that never checks in It does not bite. It does not leave. It only proves what I believe.