Sunday 7/11/2021 11:27:00 PM

 the little spider crosses the floor. the flies in its trap no less dead since her departure. 

she's small. she knows this. but her cunning  makes her strong. 

sometimes it rains. and her web is broken. but that doesn't stop her hunt. 

the gentle wind chases the sun. the places its been quickly forgetting her. 

but she still knows where she's going. 

the chemistry of touch confounds. the hiss of snakes. the choke of time like venom.

we live and die in minutes. 

shaking our dead demons. screaming at them to wake up. 

angry with the mutilated metaphors. resenting the indolent epiphanies. 

though she's spun her final web.

still, the little spider has more flies to catch. 

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