TekDancR
Bluelighter
At night, in childhood, I would sometimes dream of the panicky shivers of a fly,
its scurrying despair that tangled it irresistably in silky strands, the hidden web.
The way that dreams deceive you, the fly,
and I, asleep, felt stuck, tangling, too,
in silky webs, into blackness as the heart pounding terror of my sleepless dream wrapped me in softness.
There, with bristling fangs, the black widow
slinked out of blackness, rushed to embrace
me, its helpless victim, in its death grip while spinning soft strands that surround me and hold me in a soft embrace.
It was the horrible embrace of a dream or of life where you choke and tear those you love, or they tear you, and everything takes place in slow motion despite your brain trying desperately to slow down.
In my reptilian brain I knew I was going to be eaten later. Sucked dry of life. Eight legs wrapping, moving with such precision.
Even in dream I couldn't follow down
to where the fly had been wrapped in shiny cocoon, and yet the spider's prompt return to fix the web was even more terrible.
There's a certain fussiness, a meticulous way that the spider fixes it's web and scurries off to hide, leaving me dangling for later.
As the red hourglass fades into blackness, I wonder when or how my sleep will end.
its scurrying despair that tangled it irresistably in silky strands, the hidden web.
The way that dreams deceive you, the fly,
and I, asleep, felt stuck, tangling, too,
in silky webs, into blackness as the heart pounding terror of my sleepless dream wrapped me in softness.
There, with bristling fangs, the black widow
slinked out of blackness, rushed to embrace
me, its helpless victim, in its death grip while spinning soft strands that surround me and hold me in a soft embrace.
It was the horrible embrace of a dream or of life where you choke and tear those you love, or they tear you, and everything takes place in slow motion despite your brain trying desperately to slow down.
In my reptilian brain I knew I was going to be eaten later. Sucked dry of life. Eight legs wrapping, moving with such precision.
Even in dream I couldn't follow down
to where the fly had been wrapped in shiny cocoon, and yet the spider's prompt return to fix the web was even more terrible.
There's a certain fussiness, a meticulous way that the spider fixes it's web and scurries off to hide, leaving me dangling for later.
As the red hourglass fades into blackness, I wonder when or how my sleep will end.
