where was the world promised?
where was that guiding hand
to lead me astray? the child
I was years ago seems a
stalker; he watches me
and I watch him back.
I cannot and don’t let go.
We are beside ourselves.
I am a boy and not a boy.
I am that bamboo fountain
in the garden, endlessly
filling itself up with itself.
I am a conflict.
I am the spider, who
for fear of a thread undone,
gingerly treads on its own feet.
I am the paradoxical predator, a
wretched anomaly, feeling’s mess.
when the curtain comes falling
you already know what I’d do:
take every fibre of my being-
make a net to catch you.
unravel doubtful webs
into simple lines.
Infinite reoccurring dream sequence.
I am walking down an endless hallway,
one where you’re lurking behind every door,
where you’re always, just slightly, out of reach.
The spider spins its silk, the bamboo tips over.
Let it all flow back: let all the doors slam shut
and every step made backwards in time.
been a while since I wrote a triptych poem. Also, just got a domain name!(after such a long time. ) Will probably revisit and rewrite this some time in the future.