taranula chapel i wanted a place to worship. became a cricket to sit inside the spider's hunger. rubbing my legs together & singing about the oldest shade of green. once, i had a pearl necklace i wore to every single rendezvous not knowing it was really a string of eggs. spiders hatched at once & consumed me. i was divided betweeen them. perched in the corner of the room & waited from memories to come like flies. sitting alone with a television & asking it to give me penance. i buy a gold chalice to fill with sugar. instead of sleep, i prayed until the ceiling opens like an eyelid. i want to have a family as myriad as these legs. i go beneath her. eight pillars of salt. her thick abdomen as cathedral. angels that buzz & look for rott. holding a candle in my mouth. the flame, a pair of wings. i learned how to fly from jumping off rooves. hearing my bones snap like stained glass pitchers. sitting still, the landscape becomes a pop-up book. not real on top of not real. god eats plain bread at a table in the darkest pantry. the pillars move & are now her legs. her eyes, a bowl of washed plums. i bite into one & still cannot sleep. behind my own eyes are visions of her lineage. church after church, filling my bedroom with legs. i plead with her to show me how to beg because what is devotion but a catelog of bending?