Poem: Spider and Sprite


The spider sends out thoughts from her web,
And receives thread-like messages from the web of the night,
Feeling a tug – a yearning tremor of her matrix – she calls out:

“Who goes there?
Who are you?
What do you want with me?”

But the web becomes motionless and dull,
And she wondered if her predatorial instincts
Were beginning to trick her in her old age

And somewhere, on the other side of the world,
Where night has forgotten to be itself,
And all is enwombed in perpetual light,
A little bird shifts in its nest and sighs,
The ensemble of twigs groaning against
The yearning tug of the wind,
Which slowly whispers:

“Who are you?
What do you want with me?”

And in the minds and brains of animals,
Questions are always being sallied back and forth,
And the switchboard dilates with the impersonation
Of light, and sleeping crows hardly lift their wings to
The blow of far-off musket balls

Yes, things come together,
Even as we sleep,
And spiders and owls can regain their happiness
In the suspicion of a whimper

Learning to let the heart open up,
As we are cuddled by the questions
Carried on the wind


POEM: Insidious Silk


The day you’ve been waiting for

Has finally arrived

How long have you been

Wrapped up

In this insidious silk?

Trapped in this web

With no means of escape?

But just as the spider approaches

Time seizes him

And tears him to pieces

Now your silken prison

Has become a silken gown

And your noose

A sacred scarf

You can die happy

In such opulence

As the contentment of freedom

Squeezes your breath away

Poem: Sky-Dancing Spider


Spider, spider

Walking on the sky

Exploring the hidden mysteries

Of the ceiling’s geography

How many deserts

Of sandstone and plaster

Will you traverse

Until you return to your web?

You know The Art of Death

Black Stealth sustains your silence

But you roar with a subliminal blood-lust

Even as you make every shadowy corner

Your Cave of Waiting

Can I sleep safely

With you, a many-legged marionette

Sky-dancing above me?

So long as you don’t choose

To make my nostrils your dining room

Then I’m sure we’ll get along well