Spiders are singing in the salty breeze Spiders are filling out tax returns Spinning out webs of deductions and melodies On a private beach in Michigan Why can’t they wish their kisses good Why do they miss when their kisses should Fly like winging birds fighting for the keys On a private beach in Michigan This recent rash of kidsmoke All these telescopic poems It’s good to be alone Why can’t they say what they want Why can’t they just say what they mean Come clean, listen and talk Hello private callers, IDs blocked The sun will rise, we’ll climb into cars The future has a valley and a shortcut around Who will wear the crown of drowning award Hold a private light on a Michigan shore You fool me with a kiss of kidsmoke From a microscopic home It’s good to be alone I’ll be in my bed You can be the stone That raises from the dead And carries us all home There’s no blood on my hands I just do as I am told