(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.
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(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.





