1.
It is not
That I like the struggle
More than less.
Or that I merely am
To eat. It's just
That I'm concentric.
Drawn to experience.
Attuned to the least
Vibration, as to sound.
I have to make it stop
That made it sing,
Or see my ladders wrecked,
To keep the delicate
Balance of my ways.
Web is home and meat,
And the music playing
In the spheres.
2.
There are histories diverse
As the wind's duff.
I bind them to a place
They never had.
I spin them deep.
Fear is put to rest.
I accept
What's true in each.
Doubt is left to hang.
And so belief is strained
To fill the emptied shells,
Or find a cause:
Hunger's leisures.
Pleasure's skills.
Tropes of my silk's
Disguise.
