Cobwebs Poem by Charles Dawes

twisting into
a bundled mess. her eyes
follow me
out the door.
shaking off my
doubts.
some cling on,
babies made of
assumtion.

sleeping through
the sharp ringing,
only helps
to cause more
white, to spring up
in the brown.

after this amount
of passing time,
(the years blend
together when
you forget to blink)
if your caught
out in the cold.
iTS YOUR OWN lOUSY
FAuLT.

(((a fish swi
mming. does nothing
but leave behind
but one more example
of love wasted.

these cannot be
(memories) .
these are not
your thoughts.
but a dense
'collection' of
out-dated,
broken-out,
overused,
and
'false advertised'
toppings.

fancy that.