Morgan Street, We're On Morgan Street
Three of us in the tub
On the side of the stage.
The pastor, my father, a drowned wolf spider, and I,
Who, with wandering eye,
Did declare
“Im sorry you drowned, man.”
“Oh, no,
It’s quite alright!
See, I did this on purpose.
I grew lost in these immense halls, where reside few flies or other crawling/flying pests.
I’ve become weak and weary.
Endeavored and convicted I had adhered well to His plan for me, I drowned myself in this holy water, so that I may too join in beatitude and sing of all creation and substance.”
“Aw, man,
This isn’t holy water.
We’re in a non-denominational mega-church, dude.”
“Oh… dear…
Lord, I have done nothing than what you have intended for me.
I spun webs——I too created.
And have taken in supply of sundry subsistence as to what you have deemed fit for my creature.
…
Anywhow, I should at least be happy to make it to the Rainbow Bridge——seeing as I have no soul and such…”
“I mean, well,
If you made it there, what would you even do?
Like, you won’t be able to catch flies or, like, fuck and make baby spiders.”
“Oh… well,
I could surely spin webs and wander about without fear of predation.
I would respire without worry.
And I’ll visit with my hundreds of children who number in the count of faithful arachnids.
I should even wait for you, and we’ll converse and laugh without fear of one another.”
“I mean, I don’t know how to respond to that…
Like, the Rainbow Bridge isn’t real.
Some white lady made it up to neuroticize children into the old question of animals and if they have souls.”
“Oh… my…
Where am I going, then?”
“Well, I mean…
I don’t really know.”
“Oh…Lord…”
“Well… Um,
Did you vote?”
“No.
There is no worldy authority.
There is no King of Israel.
Our High Priest is here, but he only appears to very special people and never to spiders.
So I reject all confusion of mass morality and material concerns.
Moreover, animals have very few rights in this country—–I am inelligable for citizenship.”
“Oh, yeah,
Um, do you know where we are?”
“Morgan Street,
We’re on Morgan Street.”
“Aw… Geez…
No man, I’m sorry; we’re in Wilmington, North Carolina.”
“No sir,
I believe you’re mistaken in this instance.
We are surely in St. Louis, Missouri, on Morgan Street.
Can you not see?
We’re in an old shack with a piano.”