the creature has noticed me.
it has thousands of broken legs on its face and keeps
tabs, never wasting an hour without
checking in, watching my home grow bigger in the corner.
i am a long bodied cellar spider,
suspended, inverted beneath the guitar case,
just right of the bed frame.
food is scarce, but i sense we share this
hunger in the humid subterranean habitat.
it takes on thinness,
shakes at times,
makes day into night, flips pages, tele-spells, turns night into day again.
microfibrous dust settles on my spinnerets,
a twitchy sneeze draws attention, the cruelest of details.
while unravelling undaunted one pseudo-day
sort of night, a pulse was released comma intent to kill.
it came like resolute qualia,
something my eight eyes can’t see.
the plastic cave, the broken allegory, all ghastly and converging.
as soon as the web bristles, a switch will summon
a stunning epileptic display.
i am ready to give it a leg, but only from the calv.
it has never come this close.
17nov06 – brennan mcmullen