Panacea pearls
strewn in sagacious strands
across the webs within the mind.
Weathering irony’s showers
feeling their droplets
clinging to the cerebral vines.
Inner eyes blurred to witness
from the spiders of light.
Always searching to interpret
enigma’s
black widow weave,
when it is truly a silky festoon
of epiphany’s arachnid.
Sometimes
truth is unadorned of threaded metaphor,
needing to be cherished
for its simplicity.



9 old applause
