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.