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11/05/2018

Paper

Kid hopes.
Silent screens are forever
mean.
Next comes the true
type
face.
I lick the finger,
turn and
turn
the page.
My apologies
to the trees.
I drink the print -- let it always be
black.
Off-press hot,
I am brilliant.
I am exposed.
I am brittle and stupid.
Sand.
Everyone's
laughing.
When I think of you, I taste
paper.

C.A. MacConnell