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Ms. Cellophane


My lungs ache and my mind…wish I were made from iron, like the man in the comics.

Ms. Cellophane

I choke upon words, like blood from aching lungs
And spit out ideas with the zeal of infection.
Staining paper with the crimson curse of poetry
I write on wards
And inwards.

Before the judicial bore and glory of affirmation
In the public domain
I wear only cellophane
And a name
Without a face.

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