Author Information
A spider hangs from my memory
a web of
childhood
memories
hangs in
my little mind
a net, a see
through net
a realm
of filament
hangs in
a little quiet
corner
of my little mind
the world
may fall
but its angel
will always
be in its
own world
a monk in
meditation
except when
the unkind wind
cuts into his home
and makes holes
broken strings
floating, dancing
a little spider
fully round
at its abdoman
would then
put some life
into this quiet
world in my mind
an industrious
man - legs,
mouth -
busy like
a machine
get his
spiral home
into shape
and as patiently
swims to the centre
to sit as king
every intruder
shakes his home
to remind him
it's time for
some exotic raw meal
