There is a spider on your head

it weaves stories on your mind

Quite sticky, wouldn't you agree 

I sport mine around like he's a king

Clouds fell to the ground

from a great faraway

and brought the smell

of Turkish delight here

into this cold play

"Don't make up stories"

whisper I to I

and snap back 

into the present grit

Let me have this experience

through beauty

Beauty doesn't quit

I may point at the shadow

but it doesn't show the one

who casts it

And when I'm trying to run away

I'm only spinning tires

focused on misunderstanding

Smoke dancing above chimney

I watch it in the morning

So peaceful

like Ando's Buddha hill

in snow