the spiders are young girls
fiddle-dee-dee at the maypole
their skirts, their folds their pleats their smooth,
but weaving less than geometric webs
ask
“
how them other spiders cast their nets so fine so free?
“
“
how they,
egyptians engineering
geometrical
acrobatical
graces
their niggers in their traces
lick at their winds
their breath the
mathematical
“
one can see why this marriage will not span
so
this crazy spider arrayed against god
shall hang on a cord of my own spinning
