The Atelier
I was upstairs,
looking around in some stranger’s workshop,
I didn’t see him on the way up.
I saw the coordinated lines of artistry
which appeared to me as mere chaos.
Is that what she means?
Is she trying to be confusing?
Or is this poor perception a default in my 20/20 vision?
I saw the stacks of papers that didn’t make the cut,
left in a rumpled hump on the floor.
Is this pile of rejected text
the piece she intended to present as artistry?
And the junk drooping on the walls a mockery?
This is too much philosophy.
I left.
I walked down the stairs,
and there,
I saw him.
The spider.
Hanging,
strung up in his own web,
dead,
and lifeless,
just dangling.
Her most creative masterpiece.
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