Tarantulas of steel squeeze under the door, isolated by 
an obsession coming on, coming right in. There we go, holist.  
Theory-and-forth serve your attention..  
Theory is the place we may detect a feeling you’ve already won, untidy and young, accomplished and loathed despite a foundational rule of no feeling without permission.  
 
The tarantulas swell and explode in wrinkled light over and over —  
burbling with a kill-agenda tickled into decisions, even now aching to blather.