I am the spider
suspended like an apostrophe
in the space
between the dryer and the wall.
I watch
quietly
spinning spinning spinning
my own translucent tapestry
as a million stories
unfold
and tumble
together
in a cyclone of dark dry heat.
Propelled
through each 7 minute cycle
by life’s dirtiest little secrets
caught up in the drunken dance
of old panties
and tattered socks.
I sway with the gentle sucking of air
as the door opens and closes.
Dangling precariously
on a single thread
stretched taunt
between an empty egg sack and
a dying body
tied up
and waiting to be consumed
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