

du papier.Remember the day We punched the perforated lines From that gaudy pink book.du papier.
And chose the ugliest doll. Whose print had smeared in the factory To be my little made up me.
Tuck her away in a drawer For 6 months And the month more.
I took her out today Not to play,
But to sympathize.
Eyes sunken to soft pulpy blurs Rorschach tears remade her face. If we toss her in the shredder now
She’ll be happy. She’ll be confetti.


Poetry from the Depression: 2Dear Mr. J. Christ, We regret to inform you of your daughter’s passing On this the 13th of a soaking wet monthPoetry from the Depression: 2
[I never knew the showers to bend and break the flower trees When scarecrows make strays feel stranger “What is it?” “It’s me.” Scarecrows belong to crows and strays to nothing Should I carve myself a nametag? "If found, return to" Shiny blank metal would have them leave me in the street]
“What is it?” “It’s not you, it’s me.” They found that on her skin Where someone cut the nametag out We think she’s yours, So come claim her


Poetry from the Depression: 1The sensation transcends words. Crisp cool lines create equilibrium Between the bathing water and nights draping breeze. The hand that lays upon your stomach knows That skin was meant to feel this way. Porcelain. Cool and icy, lips and nipples placid white. Flawless. Like poetry- the poem you printed out 27 copies of For all your friends to read. (Three of which did and the rest smiled politely.) That thought sends a spasm through your arched back. Letting water seep up your nose, But it’s a pleasant feeling, Like being born. The rest of your limbs are hPoetry from the Depression: 1
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If you can read this update firefox
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In my nothing, you meant everything to me.
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