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Self In 1958

But I would cry,
rooted into the wall that
was once my mother,
if I could remember how
and if I had the tears.

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What is reality?
I am a plaster doll; I pose
with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall
upon some shellacked and grinning person,
eyes that open, blue, steel, and close.
Am I approximately an I. Magnin transplant?

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