It won't do matter of a fact to say
world bulks between us and the sun
(joke me a spider) while spinning a new day.
A river of unconsciousness must run
the gamut of a gaggle's sway
to bring me brimming morning.
You grain me facts and grind them into bread;
and there is thanks for all you've said and done -
but yet, to thread these corridors of doors, I tread
by dreads and hopes, and feel I've but begun
to learn how gardens of the dark deep-bed-
down edge of morning.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
