The Weavers

In my eyes, a litter of spindly spiders weave an invisible blanket of light
 
As I peer between their rapid golden needles, a tangerine- blue space spirals into being
 
The elohim are unraveling one another in a carnivorous binge fest
 
 
 
The record holder now sits alone:
 
his black blood body a lonely trophy displayed to dismembered witnesses
 
They decorate my iris like a Persian rug,
 
unfurling in every compass direction
like a squid coveting the entire earth

(this poem inspired by Nigel Cresswell's alcohol induced 'Spiderweb Sky')