Poetry: How Cobwebs Form

David saw her at the pitch
Her laughter charmed him
Another day at the beach
and after then in his dream
oh he loved her
Promised to tell her, later

This is how cobwebs form
They slither in, and like a worm
eat up your heart from within

David saw her, later, her lips on Damian’s



I want to drive you crazy
With You, my mind isn’t too lazy
No fuzziness, it’s clear! I should drive you crazy

Let me slide in your DSM
Directly in your soul, to the stem
I promise, I’m not like all of them

I want to treat you like royalty
That’s who you are in reality
Not this stereotyped sexuality

I want to be inside you
Somewhere in the corner of your mind
Diffusing through to your heart

I want to knock you off unstable grounds
Place you away from preying hounds
I want to play you into sounds

I want to recognise your symphonies
Test run our harmonies
And synchronise our agonies

Let me take you away
On a special day in May
I want to in your heart remain

I want to be
Outside the four walls of defeat
Just basking in the idea of you and me



Cobwebs and spiders
Silken thread riders
As dust and dirt gather
Their network spreads wider
A hazel or filbert bush webbing her entangle
Neatly scheming to love and strangle
Pray dear prey
Use the other way.

Cobwebs and spiders
Silken thread riders
As dust and dirt gather
A hazel or filbert bush webs her entangle.



Abandoned room
Dirty walls
Unkempt ceiling
Dim lights
Cobwebs form.



One word, then a sentence
Sentences, then a whole book
Then the spices
Then the retracted lines
Replaced by more convenient ones

Painted and repainted
The hew, determined by the moment
Coat on coat
Over and over again till it bears crusts
Gradually it starts falling apart

The web is built
It lasts as long as convenience would allow.



It starts with a knowing fart
Escaping before you get a chance to suck it in
Upsetting the air
Sending all parties out the room
Then in comes the sloths,
The slimes and the brutes
Blood is spilled
Carcasses are piled
Stench becomes a friendly neighbour

Your next visit to the house
It is difficult to recognize
Bullet holes riddle its walls
Hard knocks no longer mean a thing
The door has caved in
And right at the entrance
Are cobwebs to0 thick for hands

Jennifer Dafwat


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