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a little soldier, puppet on a stick, or is the stick his sword? He looks quite gay. Out my window, the woods: terrarium: I put bread on the snow there yesterday, but no one has come to eat it. It has frozen. (Easy for them to follow was the child’s way.) Love they could never put you on a stick. They could kill you in their prison but they could never have you. They can do anything. We didn’t know each other We didn’t know each other, only what we ourselves hardly knew, though they hurt us, every breath, the holes in our sides, though they were invisible, underground rivers, caves— Touch with your finger Touch with your finger the left side of my chest I hunch to protect the side that holds like a womb your walking your walking over to us at our plastic table in the Visiting Area your hair cut, your chest caved in, your face caved in, your covered-over silence. new poems 33 ...

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