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the spiders are young girls
fiddle-dee-dee at the maypole
their skirts, their folds their pleats their smooth,
but weaving less than geometric webs
ask

how them other spiders cast their nets so fine so free?

how they,
egyptians engineering 
geometrical
acrobatical 
graces 
their niggers in their traces
lick at their winds
their breath the 
mathematical

one can see why this marriage will not span

so

this crazy spider arrayed against god
shall hang on a cord of my own spinning

say something nice ... or not

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