The Moya View
Gone in the labyrinth
is the thin golden clew
that is the salvation out
for the gathering of lost poets.
The thread doesn’t exit
to the center,
to meaning,
just a thick grove of forest
where they meander forever
in the definitions all around them,
each footfall erased in
the revision of those before.
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JONATHAN MOYA
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Reminiscent of the Minotaur.? I like this eerie poem a lot
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