Poem for disease

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By Andrew Dinsmoor, Senior Staff Writer

You move in and out of me

with your words. My obsession

used to be hair loss or a few extra pounds

around my waist. It was the star

in your eye that distracted me from the dark

hole in myself. It was bright like

a titanium waterfall in August. A distraction

from compulsion. No more head pains or mysterious

lumps under my skin. Phthalates, radiation—

the worries of our life here in the 21st century—

all benign. All veiled from my eyes

by the glimmer in yours, like

a burning church during the first snow of December

that is smothered with gallons of water, being

pumped from a thick hose, like

little hurricanes thrown at a resilient city.

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