The Spider's Poem
I have been a sealed up hermit, since the hurricane, and poetry is what has been coming out of me. Maybe one day soon, I'll try to publish some of my poetry.
The Spider's Poem
And she,
of the eight legs
rushes into the night
making
others
dreams
happen
with a flick of the wrist
turning away
from her knowledge of
the spider’s poem.
Makeshift
simultaneous
slower than summer.
Upright
in its need to tell the truth
The truth—
where does it lead her?
Away from brown packages.
Away from city living.
Away from the prized possessions
of the other side
of the world.
The other side
of the world
where
Emotion—
has been drugged down
into the underworld
&
there is no place
to weave her poem
because there is no space
to live a dream
that is larger than
one poem
one web
one history
one voice.
The other side
of the world
where
Machines—
are drumming up the business
of human hands
which still work
in conjunction
with the needs
of the grids & the grates
keeping fires
in check
and electricity
flowing
on the other side of the world.
Togetherness—
this is the
underlying
revolutionary
experience
of the cells &
the stars &
the machines even.
Don’t call her away
from the matters of weaving
seed-started destinies
growing out of garbage.
She won’t have it any other way.
