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Click hereThe subconscious mind
is a spider
weaving the web
of inconsistency.
Sharp spiny
limbs pulling threads
of thought
into a coruscating
tapestry of dreams.
Come vast arachnid,
spin me into
forever.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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Another gold coin of the Gaelic realm, continuing to weave gold threads of thought...