back to covers and memorials all death all a few feet away within arm's reach, within a breath not took.
Watching in awe a spider weave it's gossamer web on our clothesline,
tacking silvery filament to & fro guiding it just so with a back leg, running & spewing so fine a thread: I can't spin silk out my butt can u?
And the spider has spots on its legs like the one Big Daddy Rock sent dancing around the tattoo parlour in pennsylvania.
So delicate a deathtrap
wafting in the dark cold breeze
so.
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