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Mired in Mirage There was a second when Convention and her wastrel cousin The High Pretense of Concern lapsed into anxiety lapsed into terror while you whirled I could see broken glass on the sand seconds before your pedicured foot plunged down and down. I knew that the glass was irrelevant you were sinking into quicksand I could no longer dig you out with my toy shovel I couldn't have known that others were watching one would snatch you from the sand lock you in the trunk of his limited desires smash glass with his own foot in a covenant of blood The end of this dim adventure was given to me in pieces after the ceremony there was not much left for scrapbooks you are powerless to even speak to me of earlier journeys The last time I saw you you were tied up in apron lacquered to a spinning kitchen floor head held on with velcro grinning |
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