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53 The Eye Patch Here’s where I start to collapse in on myself, pulling galaxies as I go, a few huge stars, how they swirl before they’re sucked in to the hole that has become my eye, to the nothing that now wants everything that has become my eye— the blackness of the patch tricking my palsied eye into not-seeing as it sees in the round sea of its dark cup: the mind in its weedy prominence opening like a terrible mouth. ...

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