Spider

My nest is my treasure.

The web is meant to catch more than spinning records.

This is the essence of impenetrable.

Something you can’t get.

Some message that can’t be sent.

From the other side where ghost lament regrets or toast to mile markers across which they never stepped.

Yes, this net catches an endless precession of death.

And hope lives at spindles edge.

Don’t touch this line for those souls who’ve dare become motionless.

So sure of the illusion of loneliness.

Until a hero opens the door and says.

I’m not done holding you yet.

With all eight legs.

We all run out of breath.

Beggars can’t expect to be left in charge.

Death sentencers can’t demand respect.

Fear and neglect reflect our purpose.

Kindness in earnest is worth being worthless.

Even if you earn less you were more present.

That is a gift far greater than my treasure.

My nest.

My net.

My best impression of being selfless.

To end up pressed against the web.

And through to the other side as I leave my last breath.