A spider hanging out on a web between beach rocks over a snail shell.


that doesn’t end. If snails didn’t stop growing, the spirals on their shells would
____________align with the cartilage of galaxies. picture this:
a spiraled home.
____________four thousand steps for one footprint.
hardly a prison—laced in that snail’s flesh,
_____________________________an immortal bone
-gray hull, chainmail cave
_________to a mouthful of teeth. picture this:
the carnage
_________of any stride, careless the way bullets turn
skylights into peepholes.
___________________The way grief leads each step
towards another agony. In truth, we’re not afraid of killing
anything with too many eyes. Stay for the cycle of death,
_______________tasting the weakest flesh. picture this:
predator versus prey
_______________until something trespasses and everyone dies
at their own fingertips. Catch me
slaughtering spiders, unraveling snails from bitter webs, clawing
_____________pith from fruit. I must ask, in all my human mercy:
____________________________________how dare you rot
in your rescuer’s hands?

Photo by rjp, used and adapted under CC.