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Chyrons run through my head
he
hollers with the boys
saunters through mile seven
and drags her porcelain dolls nightmare fighters
who ignore her evoke something that isn’t real
remember
scandals rammed through ears
own the tales through an attic hole the moods
and veins dark figures lingering along strewn gravel
and you must forget must do that
somehow
black widow II: my own gliomas
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