Spiders on the Moon

spiders on the moon
simple yet so wrong
play violins too soon
too many strings as one

join the wheat fields
with seeds of twine
let them grow out as strands
of air see the wind

dew settles on blades
and the quiet leaves churn
under mountain savagery
engines grind the air
warm breath of feeble
words stutter
the lines of people riding
up metal stairs oblique
and poisoned sliding skyward