Born in the corner-
Is my present state,
the spider web
In which we live
The four corners into
which we are pressed-
Oppressed
by our natural dissension;
our blind carcasses are made of pseudo-ness;
the eight legged mess, a crooked sideway stress,
as we caress the fine lineaments of spider threads,
catching no prey but ourselves,
for we all pretend to be predators in contemplation
of oppression and dislike,
yet, our blind carcasses of pseudo-ness,
the eight legged mess
of our spider dress is...
trapped in a web of our discontent.