It flowed like Spider gas... wall of hands he hungrily caught and ate flies... obedient servants
And the eyelids of the walls gave ripples... his eyes he believed them like a child... empty words
The day stealer stole the dew from the Blue grasses and the sun is no more in their half-bent arms
How the heat dripped on the ice. so the snow burned losing all words compressed lips back bent tired day sad that laziness prevents him from being even
And falling from the open window in flight melted the last tear the fly in the Spider's clutches had a warm yearning in its eyes.
Such a kind good fortune a typical day in the palms of sleep it rolled a little forward but sometimes the plant ended in it.