my hand trailed,
the black-white
of the bathroom
porcelain,
the doll-faced vision,
gasped-
the eyes punctured
but all shell and oval,
like the egg the chick
recovered from,
but nothing of her
from ear to ear,
no wonder:
the street corner walked,
and the bar stool drank,
and here, and here:
the leaky faucet dripping
as i drag a bed.


 
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