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poetry

To spiderman, without love

in this
our moment of separation

(for me)
angry agonizing infuriating

you smile
because your mind is stuck in a warp

where you think you
have got me

tied-in
so flawlessly

not a single visible knot,
perfect handiwork, (you think).

But that image of you
and of I
and of half a dozen others
is the image
of a lie.

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February 2010

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