by Richard Vince

Fingers like spiders' legs
Find unexpected, hidden paths,
Just as this pen is
Finding words I didn't know
Were hidden away inside me...
Forming lines of indistinct shapes
That mean something only to me.

These words are forming a web
On the inside of me that is
Constantly remaking itself
As I try to untangle myself
By throwing them off me like
A plague of spiders.

Perhaps I remake it myself
As I know I would miss
The process of self release
It necessitates...
One of many traps I have
Constructed for myself
As a way of feeling more
Sympathetically disposed...

And someday it will be
My unmaking, as I try
Always to unmake what is
Gradually becoming all I am;
A self made self deconstruction
Which will see me as everywhere
As my eyes always are.


Posted on 01/18/2004
Copyright © 2022 Richard Vince

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