The Spider by Philippe Blenkiron
The Spider
Philippe Blenkiron
"Is God a Spider?" I asked,
"constantly weaving
electron threads into
spiraling elemental webs?
His iron will, spun
with a silk of liquid steel,
torn by the slightest of whims?
His tenacious tapestry resewn,
a glistening embroidery
of frosted jewelled fibrils?"
"God scares me," you said,
"In the corner of the room,
observant, unmoving,
a silent host of eyes.
His uncanny mechanics,
a mystery of hydraulic ink
wrapped in adhesive shadow.
"But He's a friend," she replied
"Call Him carpenter,
cellar-dweller,
a long-limbed daddy,
because He eats
flies like sins…
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