A zippered arachnid peeking eight-legged chrome
through the inner sanctum's one-way windows.

Through the aluminum alloy walls,
past spattered ceramic to gaze into the midnight streets
at macrobes grotesque with complexity
(and the parasitoids
that build miniature cities on their backs).

Hanging from puppeteer threads
on the cleft edges of the unreal,
crisp pheromones pour urnlike
over jade and turquoise terminals.

The voidstrip thrives with its surreal commerce:
trading blueprints for starbits,
digital eels lurking in the sable alley waters
in anticipation of a keen snipe.

Spider Sector—
only a cell on the seam of the Grand Magic Cube Valley,
octa-hexadic delegation for the mega-scale realm
that plots to implode ordinary gravitic strictures
to replace them with more spontaneous algorithms,
rendering the universe an etheric technoartist's fantasy.

And ever the glinting arachnids await,
on near-omniscient standby,
for when they are called by the Nexus Mind
to crystallize their witnessing.

Surgelight auras about the cybernetic spider,
springing into life to perform duties abstruse.
Mirror globes morphing into dull strands,
Autochthonic webbing plumbs shallow anomalies
Into the space-time grid.

In the distorted snapback, the last vestige
Of a spider's autonomy shatters.

Formerly vegetated sentinel,
now a faithful silica column with strung nerves
looking out on the neon life force
strobing invisibly through the mechanical ultrapolis.