Sitting on the corner of
nowhere and someplace
a poet spider spins webs across
a bridging wall
these intended to enrapture
with adhering enthrall
its spinneret a plume pen crafting
a cob’s face
filled with silken lines; woven
into intricate designs
so to define the fine
filament’s purpose – ending lines
to be found in the spiral
orbs where an unsuspecting word
might wonder by or perhaps,
a passing thought caught in the absurd.
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