Gaia Chokes on Gasoline Rice

I see spider lightning in the sky, stretched like varicose veins on graveyard black. I look up into rain and I see it pause in its skittering across tiled paint sky, mandible bolts in violent shivering, while its body remains still and invisible, so that all that we see is the opening and closing of the jaw as it tightens on our wrists and drags us to our feet. We can’t move leaden legs because we are used to doles from the animals we drive over in the middle of the road with our organic-chemical everything. Even the spider, once pure and uncontrollable, has become an acid wasteland, that all of its tears have become burns on our cancer skin. I stop in my steps to watch the spider retreat to its web, faraway from us, and from me, because we are drugs to an already comatose rock.