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Rhythmic Weaving Isn't so Rhythmic

The legs line up all 8 of the arachnid
Marching up to the abdomen
Dreary hairs with no movement
Stuck all in one in the doldrums

As the spider she weavers her web all along the concrete walls
To create a barrier between her and the blood of her next meal
She weaves a wall of fine oily silk crafted with utmost care
The dreary hairs do not move

Happening upon a fallen crown she sits her abdomen down
Speaking in tongues, “Fee Fi Fo Fum Be De Buzzle Bum”
Brilliant fireworks go off the last time in the distance
A grand finale of flares, flames, and fantasies collapsed in the horizon



. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The club beats fast with sounds of popular music
A thick man with a threaded beard stands out front
School children with lunch pails line up for recess
Conforming to and fro to the doors and the flow

The beats thicken
The lunch pails open
The doctor’s son produces a syringe and heroin
The lawyer’s son produces coke and booze

All night adieux a dance with the devil is due
Swaying with brilliant swagger down goes the needle and dagger
Colorful laughter fills the room like a flood and swarm of hungering locusts
Devouring all and everything worth anything in their paths

A hard slab wasteland surrounds the vivid lights
The shallow emptiness panders the beats
The bouncer bounces to the beats
Bouncing along the bouncer greets
Each and every school child with their own special feats

These feats are covered by the flow of the crowd
Bouncing as the bouncer does
Bouncing odd feats out

Tumbling, fumbling down
Down goes to genius class clown
Tumbling, fumbling down
Down goes the brave crayon artist
Tumbling, fumbling down
Down goes the crown of capitalism




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