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