If I were a large yellow garden spider,
today would be my day of days
in between the nightly flights
fanciful thoughts in what passes for my brain
Woven trap is my finger tip extension
as dinner comes home to one of eight
hands laying whatever passes to rest
under the preposition of my song
Between the eyes how many more
flying not between this gore
vegetarians are mine
wish I had an inner spine
We were here together, though,
discussing life without rhyme
and not without rhythm, that would
be an animal trait, don't look at me like that
It's not cold yet so onward life
don't end a single line with strife
snow will end the way it was
arachnid lingers nightmare fuzz
Roman Ryan 