HOW A DOVE IS A SPIDER

Frankly, I get It. You never have to Live this way.
You only have to Pay. for It.
II
So that’s how Midge bit her lip and forgot to admit it hurt
as she read The Letter.
And That’s Why the Letter was Written.
Her curls, slack in the inner blizzard
of The Real.
stitched into all Harmonies.
she broke like a sauce.
then she fell into
Place.
III
“ you must consent to Freedom, so some random God may deny You… “ or somesuch…
her garden gnome replied.
and Midge was talking to Garden Gnomes now.
So keep up.
   she had four thumbs, and no way to grasp
beyond her obliques.
so she had to wander off and tell no one
about anything- and that kept her busy.
and Life did that free.
IV
the dream is always not the same. but it continues.
it cannot be taught. only endured. so Midge may have burnt the toast-
and spake afoul; dropping her cuppa and soiling her mother’s robe.
maybe her eyes changed color, as the mundane trolled her religion
and salvaged her Doubt from Blind Faith.
but she never uncoupled from her heart. Never attended the harkenings
of freakish despair, ‘ cause Midge bled from somewhere else.
kept her actual earthquakes quiet. but never pointless.
she henpecked her demons, on holiday.
Anyway.
She knew how to shoehorn a porchlight into a boot.
Her journals are Hilarious!