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26 Bride of the Barbiturate She could do what she wanted, cave them in her hands, hide them, hoard them, make them disappear. Dice. Stones. Little bones. She could say what the doctor ordered, and how many were left in the bottle before she started swallowing one after another—how many tonight he doesn’t know—his mind’s too slow, he cannot gauge, she’s gone beyond him, skimmed his gaze, now falling down through dream, she’s floated, riding wafts of air; he takes her hand, limp tulip drooping in his grasp, her jaw hung slack, her eyes flat glass. Now she 27 will not refuse, he smoothes her hair, no protest there. He listens at her breast, the slow heart strong, her breathing soft, that languor nothing will deny. ...

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