Crouched, packed tight as maggots we waited, the air alive with expectation, all legs optimally positioned to feel the vibes, all eyes fixed on the time-spinner. Every click-tock thrilled the silk as the second arm crawled its way upward, edging towards midnight and the stroke of eight.

I look up from the webzine, my eyes on stalks. I knew they’d never put the whole truth out there, but this mother-sucking hyperbole’s making my leg-hairs prickle. It’s bad news, badly written, but it means something far worse for me, the last male hanging. A flash of silver, like a thousand moons, and the Spoke-sister appeared silhouetted at the apex, her bulbous body bristling matte-black and enormous. The fly-wing Amulets of State, glistened iridescent as she hung suspended in time and space, then hurled herself down, stopping dead at the exact centre of the magnificent Uberweb. Truly, this structure is the only creation in the world-wide web, fit to facilitate such a species-defining moment as the first Bi-gender Parliament. A pale, post-glow half-light illuminated the proceedings as the music started – magnificent fluid-music – like the death-throws of a million flies. How we clicked! The entire Senette! A storm-force frenzy of click-response so tumultuous, it was later reported by city sisters that they could feel the tremor octometers away.

Honey Hives
                                                 happy little bees                    buzzing
their final breath                    their                                                                          ability to feed


                                    domesticated                         imported
                   raised                                                          in


those hives      collapse



let’s talk about demise. you are my nuclear shadow. from the moment you intruded into my space
(                           EXISTENCE                          ) has swelled under your oppressive

               it’s vile, the way you touch or think to touch
               your hands are smeared across my mind

               and on my memory of you

let’s talk about willingness. i am willing to visualize you as a burlesque abortion.
you’re an aftertaste i can’t mask with mint

              you are a hollow