My Poetry Style
Six feet tall
anchored with thin lines
to the rain spouts and drains,
hanging like a circular banner
glowing in our security light
centered by a dark wriggly thing
big enough to see from the
upstairs window. There's
something about the moving
legs of spiders that scares me,
so precisely was it
sorting out its threads.
But in the morning
nothing but a ruin.
The light runs swiftly through it,
barely diffused and there is no
monster.
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