he is sitting still
a pen in his hand
a paper on the desk
he wants to write
he can't think of anything
he searches trough his pockets
he takes a cigaret
he lights it
he watches smoke
make circles:

seeing the new universe
of unsaid and untold
the drop of ink
falls on the paper
now,the story can unfold.

the ink spreads on a sheet
starts to form a spider
with thiny legs with
six white eyes
made of smeared blue ink
it inlarges it dances
it does what ever
he wants it to do..
then it dies,
with a movement of his pen
it reincarnates with the other one
it's so fun when you can
play with life and death.
he disperse the smoke circle,
with no trouble or regret.

all the time i stood watching
the way the story was made
of a spider from disperse
he puts a dot to end the thought
what a strange mind he has