wriggle little fly
wings riddled with ascorbic holes.

Why don’t you dance for me.
Vibrations puppeteer all six of your legs and you,

Filthy fucking fly,
your high pitched pander
is a buzzing
and your legs are steeped in the shit
you feed to other people.

Once so agile,
itching hands like a mastermind,
Pretty buggy eyes
wasted on this flailing, panicked pest

Where are your fly friends?
To swarm me,
Choke. Devour. Pour into my mouth,
like a writhing oil spill
you have found yourself alone:

And I am the spider.

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