mailbox full of spiders 

the government asks for money
which i do not have & they do not have.
i cut off a finger & hope it's enough this year. 
a letter comes with nothing
but a breath inside. the spiders 
are having a sweet sixteen for 
one of their ideas, a web the size
of the horizon. i do think vampires 
are hot but sadly the government 
is a vampire & it is not hot at all.
i have met people with no blood at all.
they are walking around like dried dates.
sugary from the sun but no longer
able to get heavy & roll down a big hill.
the mailbox has been growing. i buy 
another one to give the previous one
to the spiders. the spiders misinterpret 
this gesture & assume i have bought them
another house. i probably shouldn't
have paid my taxes. i probably should have
laid down & pretended to be car kill.
in this place, following the rules 
is often a path to becoming someone
you do not want to be. i want to be
a person who houses spiders. i want 
to be a person who can give 
& receive when the occasion calls
for it. i ask a neighbor if they ever have
the problem with the spiders. they show me 
how with one hand they smash 
any ghost who tries to be a part
of their government. i ask them if they
feel bad & they admit, "of course i do.
doesn't everyone?" in the night
i go to the spiders. i say, "i will never
break you." it is a lie. i am not sure
what i will or won't have to do. 
once i received a letter in the mail demanding
i sign up for selective service because
i had just become a prime gender in
the government's eyes. i didn't have spiders
back then but if i did i think they would
have devoured the letter for me.
told me, "come be a different type of machine."
i tell them stories. i tell them they can
send mail to anyone they want pretending
to be me. they write to my mother. my sibling.
a lover who i know still holds a mountain
for me. they write better than i ever could. 
i buy more mailboxes. the government 
eats a sandwich in my hair.