I can hear him now


He knows what he’s spinning,

but fragility is a master crafter

and he is her apprentice


He tiptoes on eight legs

and argues that he is complex,

but I don’t think so


We all keep secrets in the bathtub

next to the soap

so when we cast silken nets

and late night texts,

we can clean what we catch


Anyway, stoking the fire

is better than burning bridges

and social media is just a pleasantry


So he reaches with each limb

to keep his web from crumbling,

but what’s left of our nest

has already fallen


You see, some secrets grow up

to be big black holes

and I won’t be sucked

into someone else’s mess




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