Just Us Spiders


Trailing and scraping
the dancing pride
off the tangled gray matter

lacing and id,
purring and shrieking
against black clitter clatter

weaving a web,
hot and sticky, catching
not dreams, not wishes
just the pumping, twisting

pounding obscenely
in its sweet rhythmic
thump
thump

Come into my parlor-
only there's no fly here now.




Return