“There's a part of my life that is so repulsive and dark that I have been warring against it for all of my adult life."
Some say the puzzle is the palace. Home,
its gorgeous wall hangings, gold passages,
the hoofs stroll round, unable to kick down,
the kitchen an aroma of lamb stew.
Some say the world is riddled with tall caves
that beckon the explorer, strong and young,
deep into the intestines of intrigue,
and then the rectum's private resignation.
Between the world and home, I am lost to shame,
having given up the old habit, guilt.
What is this spool of red spun through the maze,
I cannot say but see it to the end.
The ball shrinks fast. The pattern almost done.
Why does the wool look so much like a web?