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the spiders are like young girls,
fiddle-dee-dee at the maypole.

there were spiders forming less than geometric webs,
dangling half-hung.

how the other spiders cast their nets so finely and freely without effort,
how they,
like egyptians performed feats of engineering,
geometrical and acrobatic graces
with only the broke backs of brown laborers, theodolites and the right winds
to spirit the fineness over vast oceans of hot desert.

one can see why this marriage cannot last
why its span cannot fall further than the door jamb,
which I,
this crazy spider arrayed against god
cannot move too quickly to tauten against the wind
and hang this godfighting body
on cord of its own spinning.

say something nice ... or not

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