I am too evil, fingering the threads,
Then nimbly plucking yours and pulling taut.
I'll put the strain of tension in your head
I'll swing a silky tongue into your thoughts.
Yet I will never cut that which is yours
Your choice, your fate, is held in your own hands.
Like slick Ulysses, I'll lead you to wars
Then disappear on Eve of your last stand.
September 11
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