Tight arms on a tight web,
Thick-gobbed strands hawser-like
Stretched between mountains of dark and light,
A lifetime spent in waiting –
All for the tremor of some screamed thing
That flutters out its life as a warning…
Legs flex, attention rivets a nail to the heart of the coffin,
Dark, dark are the thoughts
And the certainty of death coming –
Speed!
The machine is running!
Jaws clamp on what life is left,
Swift bungee-jump through space back to the center of the web,
And a black mess of compressed bodies turned in a bundle by vast front legs.
Gagged voices would tell of death.
Imagining being a spider’s prey.
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