Webs Unwoven

I’ve become an inward-turning thing
Like the legs of a spider, dying
Curling into an asterisk across my abdomen
No longer do I weave my tangled web
Spinning tapestries like Arachne
Or making messiahs of humble swine
It’s far too much work
And I’d rather sit on my spinnerets
Admiring the orb weaver’s precise calculus
Or the ominous funnel of my Australian uncle
Or the effortless chaos of my frantically cobwebbing sisters
What need has the world of any web of mine?
Save for the snaring of flies
Whose taste has grown sour with familiarity

Perhaps I’ll try again tomorrow
To craft something of exquisite grace and beauty
Until it meets a heavy rain or blundering thumb
Perhaps tomorrow
But for now I think I’ll curl up here on the floor
Fold these legs which tire of walking
And dream of webs unwoven

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