In hammocks you collect
ceilings, my hairweight
household (especially us
sigh gnats – littlemouthed
to sound
to us
like much). All thin fingers,
you spin wooly air
nets – not so high,
not quite as carefully,
whine lazy passersby –
the cat, a sound wave,
a broom, the usual roomful
of interested
in the day to day, the way
webs take influence easily.
Spider Made
Posted Week 04 by Joa · No Comments
Tags: poetry
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