My purpose
is a waiting wanting spider
sewing it’s web between my fingers
to catch what flies would wander
into my palm
If I am the fly
and my hand the corner
of a room laden with pretty things.
how long would I wander
from knick-knack and t.v. screen
before i finally got bored enough
to explore what’s in the corner.
And if it would catch me
or pardon; when it does.
how much will I scream?
to know all my time wasted
looking at the pretty things
could of been spent in this corner
feeding a spider
a purpose
a point.
