I grow bored.
begin to abuse myself
for the spider’s enjoyment.

pose for the hanging thread
in the corner; contort
and let my mouth hang
agape.
appear lost,
and still young
admiring the predator
in my carefully painted
nascent nubility.

and I tell no one
anything.

walk around all day
tremoring in
quiet immolation
and touching every
little thing.

“desideratum”