According to my handwriting,
I am not fickle. I am as determined
as a begonia is translucent.

It is for this reason that I'm cutting plaques
to hang your stuffed head, sleepy,
in my study where I write.

I'll put cuffs on you like blossoms,
mud your fingernails to show your hard work,
but for the rest of your life,

in a dry mouth, in lamplight,
through starry windows, for us all,
you'll carry a false tongue. Finally.



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