“Spiders like poets are obsessed with power.”
-Michael Ondaatje

Spinning the thoughts of men,
she curls palm around
thread, Arachne born
with length of spine
disproportionate, curling
towards the Fates.

Stories evolve in a mesh
of word patterns;
she spins truth in a blue-gold line.

The slight fuzz on her face
darkens, coarse, the limbs
become 8 &
in no time she’s crawling in corners,
black & obscure.