June 11, 2011
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The queer noises of out hunger.
Yet more bizarre still its satisfaction.
Prowling dark alleyways;
we are no longer children.

Black ink on alabaster breasts.
With an ivory walking stick,
to support antiquated hips;
we are no longer children.

Removal of the newsboy cap.
Eyelashes like spiders.
The paradigm of beauty and fear.
We are no longer children:

Children are never alone.

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