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Poem	The Labyrinth I Zeus himself could not undo the web of stone closing around me. I have forgotten the men I was before; I follow the hated path of monotonous walls that is my destiny. Severe galleries which curve in secret circles to the end of the years. Parapets cracked by the days' usury. In the pale dust I have discerned signs that frighten me. In the concave evenings the air has carried a roar toward me, or the echo of a desolate howl. I know there is an Other in the shadows, whose fate it is to wear out the long solitudes which weave and unweave this Hades and to long for my blood and devour my death. Each of us seeks the other. If only this were the final day of waiting. The Labyrinth II There’ll never be a door. You’re inside and the keep encompasses the world and has neither obverse nor reverse nor circling wall nor secret center. Hope not that the straitness of your path that stubbornly branches off in two, and stubbornly branches off in two, will have an end. Your fate is ironbound, as if your judge. Forget the onslaught of the bull that is a man and whose strange and plural form haunts the tangle of unending interwoven stone. He does not exist. In the black dusk hope not even for the savage beast.
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