Categories
Poetry

RUMPELSTILTSKIN RESPUN

The spider from the gut spins the web.

The wine from the jug spins the head.

The word from the mouth spins the tale.

From the sky to the earth the glider tailspins.

“I am not here,” inside the head you hear

the devil say, “the world to unconfuse.

The failure of all being being the bomb,

I am but the fuse. Each life born to die.

The rock to crumble. The star to rumble

through the eons to the ashes in its mouth.

Only love breathes eternal; although none

understand why love –

worse than death –

forever and always hurts.”

The spider from the gut the corpse spins. The

wine from the jug plots against the heart spins.

The devil inside, the nausea to ease,

now and again a new tale spins. 

Willie Smith

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