3838 oaklawn

droplets of water
refract the light
in prismatic dismay
through the complex
interwoven strands
of the spiderweb
hanging beneath
the yellowed plastic
over the florescent tubes

i can’t fathom where
the balls of liquid
beading on silk
could have come from
three levels below
the storm raging above
no drips from the ceiling
no puddle beneath
just a dry cold breeze

losing the beauty of
the glittering scene
as the fat abdomened
spider watches me
walk in circles trying
to find a stain on the
ribs of concrete jutting
down from the ceiling
and finding nothing

is this another
immaculate deception
or simply a sign of
strange condensation
shimmering on the web
as it dances on the breeze
an optical illusion or
a new bipolar delusion
willing itself into existence

all i know for certain
is the spider isn’t talking
to a fool talking to
himself in a parking garage
when he should be working
seeking to solve a mystery
that he invented fully
far below the people milling
about in the office building

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