Whilst Watching a Spider Catch a Fly

 
We hunt.  
Some put it more obliquely, politely … we ‘search’.  
But no, we hunt - and are hunted.  
 
Ancient Earth-treasures are mined, then spat back at the heavens  
senses blunted, still complaining of perceived loss  
as black-holes consume the poor - and it’s never enough.  
 
One day the sun will say “stuff it” - and shut shop;  
the moon will complain its light has gone - and then what?  
It will grind on regardless, working the tides, exhausting herself to oblivion.  
 
Everything charges forth in the hunt - nailing the holy grail,  
‘stalking the wild pendulum’, massaging words into ideologies:  
the barked wail of forked tongues, stock exchanges maxing out
… even minutes before collapse.  
 
Tangled in traps of routine necessity  
paralysed by venomous surveillance  
the fly struggles in vain to be free …  
 
and all because of a wispy, frail,  
almost invisible  
spider’s web:  
 
5G.