spider-leg threads of space-time
tiptoeing onto the scene,
creeping into the calm and distorting that fourth dimension
with a feminine chinkling that would be melodious
in any other context.
But, as it is,
you stand dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen,
your hand still clenched around the goblet that isn’t there;
you took a hammer to your mirror, so enraged by the image it portrayed.
And as we wince at those snowflakes embedded in our angry skin,
we ask ourselves
How can something so beautiful do so much damage?
Before we realize
That it hardly ever works out any other way.
The avalanche buries the group of hikers,
The glistening pelt of a tiger latches onto an unfortunate,
The glowing beacon in the sky will burn you if you touch it.