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Paloma, Because I Love Her
A girl. Pale clear shift. Ludicrous and twinged in the dark. I have a sympathetic palate. I can eat anything that doesn’t criticize me. I am short hair and small breasts. I smile at birthday cards. I lurch from my seat. I wear lipstick. I sweep up glass. Heedless. In all my selves, I am a corroded quilt. But I love all the times. The googly-eyed world. Shreds of the self: peculiar, bitten, star-worthy. In New York, I will drive and play piano. When I was unfair with her, I brought her bread and cream cheese. A fancy cup of orange juice. |
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