The Empty Hole Poem by RIC BASTASA

i think the spring from which this poetry comes
is Eros,

desire, suspended desire, one which are like spiders from your belly
crawling out to build cobwebs

waiting for a prey, but why should it be a prey? because the spider is
not a flower or the sun that is welcome to every green vast field

it branches out into rain because no one is there to make the clouds
of a bright day

it is always dusky and the door which is open has no one signifying
the coming

Eros dying, speaking in tiny tongues, unheard, and no one comes to listen
to love and return love with love

it moans upon itself, day and night, it sings the saddest song of its
isolation

the cobwebs have remained empty and then the sun sets and then
the spider curls itself like an island in the middle of a black
ocean

each day is a moan each day is a missing word that you cannot find
to fit to the hole of your final idea.