A Spider On My Ceiling
There's a spider on my ceiling now, as I lie in bed awake, twelve thirty-one
and he's yet to spin this web of evening sleep.
From wall to wall he searches long for that place he will call his home.
Frantically, in confusion and haste, he passes over a thousand sites where home could surely be made.
Still he searches on past night till dawn.
From weariness, his pace has slowed and his spirit seems to have faded.
He found his home in time to spin that final web, not to move again.
His body stands for that search that only ends when one escapes.
Daniel M. Hoffman
06/03/92
1 comment:
cool poem. Did you eat him? Andrew Zimmern would have. Hey please email me-urgent request.
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