Thank You, Brown Recluse

Thank You, Brown Recluse

She bit my torso while I slept,

feasting away toward my sweetbreads.

Forever ending my career

spearing cold, culled foul carcasses.

Prying from me necrotized love

I could not incise on my own.

Stuffing daily with silver gauze,

opiates, and Scotch; oozing puss.

Giving excuse for frequent steaks

and pondering a life in Seoul

that I never wanted or lived.

And for my thirtieth birthday:

banging upward, a decade younger.

And soon, making some real money

fixing ill devised foreign prose.

She had made my year and my life,

but still, I am glad she is dead.