ana c. is sick. she'll tell you the rain made her sick. but i know the truth: she was eating spiders (again). i watched her sticking them in her mouth. i heard her chewing. I heard her crunching. i told her to stop, but she wouldn't listen. she never listens when she's eating spiders.

now they're crawling around inside her stomach gumming and foaming and and yeasting and shitting and licking and laying eggs and things in the lining of her ribs and things.

email her. make her feel better. send her your poems about expiring. i did. help her kill the spiders inside her. we can save her.


  1. fine, fine poems.

    i wrote a story about a spider and it reminds me of that last picture.