Kit Kelen #500 - spun up in webs

500

spun up in webs

off musing with what was

day to come as well

just when mind knits

walk into

tussle

brush

a flail at least

even in a little dance

slapstick when there's no one there

no point to shout 'get off'

the not remembering is here

we're random

though we've passed before

where we could not cross

by crawling

the weight is less than touch

who walks the wire to test its strength?

who draws first prey

to go with grammar

to last lunch?

patience and cruelty are meant

and some will jump

some still as stones

might be the glyph itself

proverb

a sampler skein

of simply strung

drapery of leaf between

knit with

surely these are signs

sun sprung

breeze buffeted

dew kept to show

and though we've passed before

this is not the place

but how the light's caught there

prismatic

as mist made into silk

a glyph of what yet will be written

hat and house are here too

teaching

the veil of tears

made fleeting

who's hanged herself

comes to this end

you must imagine frost

hi-tech violence

and protection

the bullet proof

elastic

tensile measure of strength

here's how we learnt to clothe ourselves

how we came to catch

and see inside

a little world

because we found it lit

and though we've passed by before

this will not be the place

these ladders alongside

perverse of us if not to climb

like lines read backward

from Year Dot

out of the Devonian

from tip of the back legs

to the spinners

from tummy

body measures all

midge mobile

grisly medieval

every death-throw shown

flies threw themselves

at impossible air

of aviators lost like this

few win such epitaphs

within the circle

this less perfect

out of kilter

bull's eye

see the centre's empty

and not where it had sat before

waves of radials run out

skew whiff with the breeze

bent to a third dimension

and – who knows – more?

did I say geometry?

it's littler than our hearing

and sometimes makes

a mist itself

with all these hidden eyes

in air

empty it out

have a riddle of why

among the fallen

pick up stick

re-purpose to not-cob the web

and this is how I pass

there when nothing was before

and where there's nothing now

this definition

is a path

tomorrow's not another day

but build from naught again and have

a haul of those who would not see

who catches here is home at last

aren't we all full of time?