treat me like Tuesday

even if it is dawn on Friday

ask me not of my spiders cushioned under skin

but of my beloved socks

not of my whys or nos 

more so of my whys to yeses

of my heart opening to symphonic scenics

of my moments dipped in hallucinatory shushes

beg of me substantial materialism

small chatter to your stuffy ears

but prismatic diversions to mine screaming my metronomed blood

these arachnids hush me to black too longtime

the faintest perpetual red is loud neon

just as it is when you

instead of gazing with Friday Night-driving worry

chuckle “hello, Tuesday.”