Death Wants More Death Than Death

Death wants more death, and then some look at my black widow spider. along the rail road tracks. fat and shiny with her black grape and red hour glass tummy. though it tells no real time, I wish it did, as I spend to much time with her. no real order either as her web goes off in all directions. She sits it the cracks where it's cool, sits and waits for me, by now she knows, I will come, I think. that she cares. I wiggle the outer most edge of the her web with a very thin stick, wiggle, wiggle and she hurries out fast as the light that she flees. holding the cricket by it's back legs, the cricket moves her Webb with her long antennas here she comes. death six beady eyes of death. no emotion: nothing to feel but true raw death black death. she rolls her front over and spins back and forth her back legs. pulling at first thick drops of the stickiest glue that she attaches haphazardly on any thing that moves. even your finger if you leave it there long enough which is about two seconds three tops. it can be so very much better than squeezing her treats through her panties it is just that exciting flirting with death. soon I have helped her fill her web with crickets. and just a few yards further down the track is another cool well concealed crack. with friends like these who needs threats and those pale, 'full belly eats, when, Death wants more death than that.