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Coffee WritingWhen they have finished their play
we can start ours because no one's there when we do
what we do. No one hears when our voices paint
the walls and celing light dances on the floor. No one ever sees
when Mom empties her flask and begins sleeping with the bile because
Dad is busy with the one he loves at night. So don't look under the bed
when her daughter falls up for three hours a day.
We are dolls until the front door opens
as we wear no jewelry and take pills
for the phantom beasts that snarl in your sleep,
making dimples for the circus of fariytales
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