The Spider by Philippe Blenkiron

The Spider Philippe Blenkiron "Is God a Spider?" I asked,"constantly weavingelectron threads into spiraling elemental webs?His iron will, spun with a silk of liquid steel,torn by the slightest of whims? His tenacious tapestry resewn,a glistening embroidery of frosted jewelled fibrils?""God scares me," you said,"In the corner of the room,observant, unmoving,a silent host of eyes.His uncanny mechanics,a mystery of hydraulic inkwrapped in adhesive shadow."But He's a friend," she replied"Call Him carpenter,cellar-dweller,a long-limbed daddy, because He eats flies like sins, laboursin your shed while you hammer and nail,accompanies your best wine.Raise a toast, man, raise your cup high to the ceiling to Himthen you can slide something thinbetween the glass and the walland take Him outsideso he doesn't bother anyone."