(alternately titled: a page taken from the play
book of Little Miss Muffet.)

"Oh...My...Argh..." "Somebody...
     Please...ease...help...me...ee"..., and
then dead silence, this comprises,
     the sole thread bare strand
i.e. plaintive desperate plea – recorded

     by emergency 911 agent Brand
N. Burg-Harris, a close family member
     of the deceased, who
     (said relation) hand
dully appeared aghast, shell shocked,

     white as a ghost,
     et cetera ******
near roundly dismissed,
     but extraordinarily grand
lee escorted to safety,

     as some VIP, who
under a "normal," regular,
     and/or typical case, would be
     gingerly brushed aside land
ding in the loony bin, what with his

     babbling like a lunatic understand
ably very little attention paid,
     but the sheer immensity,
sans horror surpassed any
     concoction hatched, analogous

     to grotesque japaned
artwork by necessity didst demand,
an extremely over
     active imagination, thus
     no "FAKE" spiderbiter words

     exist to expand
     to embellish, fabricate,
     and/or surpass,
a terrifying, nightmarish,
     and hideous circumstance

     in summary visa a vis dis
     covering Goliath manned
doubles (mandibles - jaws of steel),
     wherein barenaked remnants
     of Matthew Scott Harris protruded,

which humongous mouthparts
     of gigantic sized
     Tarantula pierced poison
     into dangling, flickr
     ring, and twitching

scant visible remains
of renowned Arachnologist, academician
     passionate serious
    die hard "Spider Man."