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The Fever Toy The arms seem clumsy at first, Outsize, the eyes detached; at odd angles, The wrists respond to no touch; Rickety, flat-veined, the legs Push out like stems from their bulbous feet; The fingers repeat themselves. What pleasure this gives, this sure Mating of parts, this slip and catch Of bone to bone, of stiff flesh To socket and joint, this gift You give yourself in advance. Instructions are not enclosed, and yet How well you assemble it, How well you insert yourself in each Corner and crevice of its wrong arms: Its breath caresses your eyes, Its lips—like larvae—explore your face, Its lashes become your own. And this is how it begins. This is the way your true name Returns and returns again, Your sorrow becoming a foreign tongue, Your body becoming a foreign tongue, Blue idiom, blue embrace. 31 ...

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