these spiders in the rafters don't weave webs, they just stare with all 8 legs and 53 eyes. hark they marking their prey from high above. they want me to save myself by wandering my eyes up to them camoflauged in the architecture and play in their mirage of angels that give like gargoyles. well, I wonder if they feel the spit as it lands on the concrete at my feet. or miss the kiss of sanctity's sweet.