he's brought us objects from within the event horizon
from the uterus of the spiritus mundi
he's brought up fish from stranger seas than yours
stained with the soup of his mind, still familiar
his creativity in force, despite whatever mind-clamor,
or the shifting of boundaries and forms,
or the sloshing of the soup.

why, he's there on the web, and in the web
we're spiders in the same warm seas
if I could be one tenth as great,
how proud of myself I would be.