"Is God a Spider?" I asked,
"constantly weaving
electron threads into
spiraling elemental webs?
His iron will, spun
with a silk of liquid steel,
torn by the slightest of whims?
His tenacious tapestry resewn,
a glistening embroidery
of frosted jewelled fibrils?"
"God scares me," you said,
"In the corner of the room,
observant, unmoving,
a silent host of eyes.
His uncanny mechanics,
a mystery of hydraulic ink
wrapped in adhesive shadow.
"But He's a friend," she replied
"Call Him carpenter,
cellar-dweller,
a long-limbed daddy,
because He eats
flies like sins, labours
in your shed while you hammer and nail,
accompanies your best wine.
Raise a toast, man, raise your cup
high
to the ceiling
to Him
then you can slide something thin
between the glass and the wall
and take Him outside
so he doesn't bother anyone."
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