Waiting

In these last deliciously
tortured hours, I tell myself
Watch the spider
watch the spider
know the name Bruce
for the myth, repeat
rinse, spit

in my mind it has
captured the essence
of a November the 5th
evening, ideas and concerns
firing, whizzing, popping
but the spider tarries on
that one place that is broken
repairing, tending and testing

if I cannot be the spider
I must be the myth
I must be the patience’s
the calm, with the skill
of pebble throwing
across a pond

and each ripple
should be a song
echoing through
these tiny thieved
moments, my song
my way and my self
 

 

 

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