Net

Every time I see a spider

I worry briefly that I’m a fly

I wonder if the flies are afraid

I wonder why I’m afraid

I wonder how something with wings falls prey to something without them

I worry deeply about this

I wonder which would be worse:

One thousand of them in an

Entrapment so small they would blanket me certainly or

A pitch black enclosure so big I’d never know when one was near

Icon

I’ve been the reason for ample art

Very little though, relative to Marilyn Monroe

Maybe I’ll be famous for sleeping with famous people

For being the muse for famous songs and famous poems

Because art only emerges from brevity

Mine is too brilliant to capture,

That’s my excuse

I’d rather be no one but a little picture in your bedside dresser

I wish the poems stayed in a little book hidden away

When someone uses you as a channel, you copy

Even more when they realize their creation is neither you nor they

Since there is no we, it becomes confetti

On the table at a lawn party

Something insignificant

Something memorable