Epode #8 Cont Poem by robert dickerson

ulas of the spiders' web, a
flurry of legs

nodding head
and thrashing abdomen,

Blood everywhere
and plenty of witnesses.

The judge just shook his head
and leaning forward, said

'Closer to the sun
is where you're goin' son',

up, step after dew-
slick step to the up

where you see that
fat spit

of land in the silvery tilt of the
sea. Lark City,

then down you come
hard on your bum.

Weights on your feet
will help to take you out.

What a place!
What a disgrace!

The lawyer said you had a case-
I'll break his face.