Patient, Is The Spider Poem by James McLain

The deep black quite silence of the night.
When patiently it goes, waiting it waits for you.
Smaller is that of the center, being where I stand.
Like some other being, I am looking around isolated.
Moreover here it has been less exposed more crowded.
Watching as he quickly drops in to explore.
And to he this immense encirclement, am I now trapped?
When that I launched off from and down into.
Sacred round filament and filament wrapped around the ring.
Wherefore from that of itself to be interviewed,
by she with out appointment this long filament of she.
Drawn out of those and patience to those it grows strongly.
And the place where it stands, O' the center of my mind.
It is surrounded, being it surrounded.
Breathless with the measureless dept of the ocean of her space.
It has become, placed in the middle without thought therebetween.
To she of he, without much thought it needs to think intelligibly.
The bridge which he needed, has led to her soft centered need.
And now he hangs from her Webb, dancing, going no where.
Anchored by her grasp,
and his last pin pricked thought of a dulling thinning ductility.
To the thread of the gossamer weaving this Webb.
Where she throws out and captures ones dream of somewhere.