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Ball


A golf ball
stripped
of its dimpled,
thin hard surface
is made of rubber
bands, thousands
or one
long
one. With a jack-knife I slowly cut
them. Snap.
Cut. Snap. Keep
cutting. Suddenly
the ball is alive in my hand, snapping,
unwrapping,
writhing,

thirty years ago. 
Today I am that
ball, deconstructing

Copyright 2006 by Greg Baysans

http://members.tripod.com/~poetx/poems/ball.html