"Born for Thorax” by Crisosto Apache
tonight, beneath a cluster
of stars they are born, emerging
from their tightly woven pouch
under a dim light
of a thousand wicker
specks they march,
up to the highest point
and jump off single file,
a microscopic battalion
of eight legged paratroopers
descending gallantly
disseminating from a red chili
peppered palace, they dangle and sway,
away from their thin strands of a woven curtain,
they scaffold to the roof top,
attached to an impressing umbilical cord,
unaware of their shimmer
in the moon lit peril
when the last cord is pulled,
they scamper into valleys and crevasse,
like tiny silhouettes scattering
a broken hack of black beads
emerging from their exquisite cocoon,
they continue the dance and dangle
on a trapeze flight, flittering
without doubt till early morning,
when dews consume the skeletal structure
—and wean