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[57] M E TA P H Y S I C A L For years now I’ve turned to you in doubt, like a charismatic opening the Bible, my finger drawn to the exact word where you’d speak to me in confirmation, or warning. Forgive me. I haven’t always listened when I’ve asked you, John Donne, to undo the dark. Anoint my forehead. Guide my hand beyond pages that you’ve left to be my light. Bless my squinting third eye. ...

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