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Mystique No man has seen the third hand that stems from the center, near the heart. Let either the right or the left prepare a dish for the mouth, or a thing to give, and the third hand deftly and unseen will change the object of our hunger or of our giving. Bothering Me at Last Where is my mother? Has she gone to the store for food, or is she in the cellar shoveling coal into the furnace to keep the house warm? Or is she on her knees scrubbing the floor? I thought I saw her in bed holding a hand to her heart, her mouth open. "I can't breathe, son. Take me to a hospital." I looked for her in the cellar. I looked for her in bed, and found her in her coffin, bothering me at last. Promenade His head split in four parts, he walks down the street—pleasant with shady trees and a sun softened by leaves touching it. Hewalks, a revolving turret for a head, from each slit of which he looksguardedly: the enemy approaches or he approaches the enemy. At any moment the chatter of differences 30 | Poems of the1950s ...

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