Spider Songs
Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
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