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Poem by Theresa

Artwork by Sandra

Good morning, Chaos. I see you there.
Like hair tangled up on the ground. Fallen from what binds you.
You are defined by breaking free from what is holding you tight.
Like a fly wrapped up in a sticky web.
Isn't it ironic you exist on adhesion? Without dissimilar connection, without contrast, what are you?
You are the spider's life.

Collideascope

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