A tangle.

A gossamer tangle of cobwebs.
A million threads tied in a knot.
Infinite lines radiating from this standstill;
Diverging, converging, entwining,
Yet each leading its own separate way,
Laughing at the ineptitude of crossroads.

If only I stood at mere crossroads
And every picture were cut black and white
With none of these confounding shades of grey,
Would the choice have been any easier then?

3rd April, 2003
At the back of a tattered physics notebook