Is It Poetry
Death Wants More Death Than Death
Death wants more death, and then some
look at my black widow spider.
along the rail road tracks.
fat and shiny with her black grape
and red hour glass tummy.
though it tells no real time, I wish it did,
as I spend to much time with her.
no real order either as her web goes off
in all directions.
She sits it the cracks where it's cool,
sits and waits for me,
by now she knows, I will come, I think.
that she cares.
I wiggle the outer most edge of the her web
with a very thin stick,
wiggle, wiggle and she hurries out
fast as the light that she flees.
holding the cricket by it's back legs,
the cricket moves her Webb with
her long antennas
here she comes.
death six beady eyes of death.
nothing to feel but true raw death black death.
she rolls her front over
and spins back and forth her back legs.
pulling at first thick drops of the stickiest glue
that she attaches haphazardly on any thing that moves.
even your finger
if you leave it there long enough
which is about two seconds three tops.
it can be so very much better
than squeezing her treats through her panties
it is just that exciting flirting with death.
soon I have helped her fill her web with crickets.
and just a few yards further down the track
is another cool well concealed crack.
with friends like these who needs threats
and those pale, 'full belly eats, when
'Death Wants More Death Than Death'.
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