Trap of Death
Posted: Thu Apr 19, 2012 7:08 am
(2nd version - note title change)
PRIMEVAL TACTICS
Spinning for spoils
with crafts of cunning,
an ambush is set;
taut and finely tuned
like a fisherman with a net
at the ready,
Poised, with twitchy legs
fused on filaments,
expectation builds
for the quiver of silver…
Strands vibrate, adrenalin on fire,
faster than a flash
she towers over meaty expire
as the captive strains to escape.
A death coat, spun,
and trapped within
the catch is hauled back to the den
and consumed, then discarded
like a used, empty tin.
********************************************
(Ist version)
In the rapids of life,
lurks a small population
of fine net makers
with a craft so capable
you can hardly see the ties
in their netting.
Spinning for spoils
with crafts of cunning,
an ambush is set;
taut and finely tuned
like a fisherman
with a rod at the ready,
poised for a catch.
Her twitchy legs
clasp the line
as she waits…
and waits…
for the quiver of a thread.
A rush of chemicals
race through her body
when the trap vibrates,
and faster than a flash
she towers over her meal
with eight eyes palpitating
as the fly flaps
and wriggles to escape.
Confinement
is more secure than Alcatraz
when a death cocoon is spun
that binds the prisoner
tighter than a straightjacket.
Immovable within,
the catch is carried back to the hole
and consumed,
then discarded
like an empty food packet.
PRIMEVAL TACTICS
Spinning for spoils
with crafts of cunning,
an ambush is set;
taut and finely tuned
like a fisherman with a net
at the ready,
Poised, with twitchy legs
fused on filaments,
expectation builds
for the quiver of silver…
Strands vibrate, adrenalin on fire,
faster than a flash
she towers over meaty expire
as the captive strains to escape.
A death coat, spun,
and trapped within
the catch is hauled back to the den
and consumed, then discarded
like a used, empty tin.
********************************************
(Ist version)
In the rapids of life,
lurks a small population
of fine net makers
with a craft so capable
you can hardly see the ties
in their netting.
Spinning for spoils
with crafts of cunning,
an ambush is set;
taut and finely tuned
like a fisherman
with a rod at the ready,
poised for a catch.
Her twitchy legs
clasp the line
as she waits…
and waits…
for the quiver of a thread.
A rush of chemicals
race through her body
when the trap vibrates,
and faster than a flash
she towers over her meal
with eight eyes palpitating
as the fly flaps
and wriggles to escape.
Confinement
is more secure than Alcatraz
when a death cocoon is spun
that binds the prisoner
tighter than a straightjacket.
Immovable within,
the catch is carried back to the hole
and consumed,
then discarded
like an empty food packet.