"I broke my Islets of Langerhans when I was one day old.
They snapped in a thousand and one places.
Who knew you could break your Islets of Langerhans?
And at one day old, no less!"
These are the sorts of fabrications I make,
the fabrics I weave (with really neat geometric Navajo-style patterns!)
over the huge net that falls now
upon so many. Nobody
is asked to think that they are legitimate,
but they're (a hell! of) a lot more real
than some of those space blankets
that float around in the spider's web.
That spider is boring, and its
web needs no sticky substances --
it traps us in our own aimlessness carelessness thoughtlessness restlessness
and all of the other lessnesses we find in our pockets
along with our short hands.
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