THE WEAVE:

…Lilith wanders behind Pluto,

as he wanders through

the forest, hiding journals…

"The Musician plays
the song for the People,
but he writes the poem
for the Muse.  She is

the riddle his world is
woven through.
He cannot uproot her,
without uprooting himself.

What a predicament-
When her taste grows
sour in his mouth.
He has made a baby,

and it lives, and he loves it
more than the Muse.
But even as he moves
on, she is

hidden as the Dark
matter between the Roots,
holding all the Ways
her nutrients have fed his

Life.  The Musician believes
the Muse is watching,
long since she has stopped.
Omnipresent, after

she is gone.
He alWays reflects
on himself through her
eyes- because that is what

he used her for.  She listens
to the music, with everybody
else, and only she
knows what it means,

or cares, in the secret
beginning.  She held
the dream open, so he could
weave.  It fruits 

from her decomposing 
body.  Like Fungi 
on a log, Followers
POP from the Wyrd,

One by One."