So much confusion; the labyrinth of all the choices gone before;
does the puzzle require one to work from the center out or from the
outside in? And just exactly what is it that is trying to be got at?
Meanwhile the hamster spins his little tale faster and faster, til he
stumbles and goes flyin’ off. Shaking himself, he hops back on
and off he goes again, going nowhere fast but getting there
nonetheless.
In another corner the serpent lies still, conserving energy for his
next meal. If he could see (or think) that far, he might well ask
himself, “What’s the hurry? You ain’t going nowhere.”
After all, it ends up right back where it started. Bred as feed for
another who will in turn be fed to yet another who will then be
splayed and pinned, dismantled, or formulated in chloroform to be
gawked at by bored students on a field trip.
Anyway you slice it then, fodder for some pointless data; tagged
and labelled, set upon some forgotten shelf in a back closet.
So this experiment that is the maze sometimes called the self.
poetastrophy 