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Poem Seventy-eight
Her dreams of stardom
drowned in a bottle
of the shit you have to do to survive
I imagined some green man
would take her away eventually
a remnant of spirit here
the last trickster
in the shape of some
lonely animal
fooling her with joyful noise
but walls make lousy pages
and the thought of her lowering
as I cut her secret out comes back
it hits the literary hack
where it hurts
she denies the memory of rooms
and the taste of bitter almonds
May 29, 2007