the itsy bitsy spider

were time but to push this aside unto,

and the surface be as scratched and swiped clean;

in you this unfinished and left ascew,

at twilight seems somehow disolved unseen;

within these walls time but ticks with tired scream,

broken down and sad perplex'd is my sea;

so angry for this breath of knowledge gleam,

arms in open space dry and brittle me;

as an empty shell doth wallow away,

so hungry for connection as in wake;

to run aside and swim far from safe stay,

and fall upon distance and (w)holes to make;

     this choice to flee of me and solace take,

     wonder which path would birth from this mistake.