Liz Baumann

The invisible red thread
which weaves the common ground
conducting their illusions
are those spiders all around.

Everything happens, not for
one reason – that’s simplication.
But for many, all at once -
dreams’ overdetermination…

or is it:
Predetermination.

For what the future left behind,
present quietly concealed,
abidingly taking time while
vain, the pasts are revealed.

This world is so riddled
with word and with name
but anagrams are showing,
homonyms are the same.

The fire I did not start
no spark no fuel no light;
sure, clearly, it’s not visible
hiding there in plain sight.

With gravity of observation,
Four’s waves did thus form
and merged with those others’
to create the perfect storm.

Lessons from the frog
last, thinking it could hide
insecurely in the bathroom
but doors flung open wide

now once again encountered
this time she’s wearing red
why should I try to hide
what those other people said?

The sun of rocks and stones
had it backward, but no less
his timing was impeccable
for the future’s not addressed.