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IMPOSTOR WITH HOUSEMAID'S KNEE

Briefly she sees "life is terrible."

Looking out she wants the window to be

lyrical about snow, dreamy for Hitchcock,

cold cash, hot property, anything.

But, it's "wet and cold with instrumentation,"

Fountains tinkle in the distance.

She might say something

like "then, the thaw."

The smell of warm butter,

seven dollars, purple velour.

Wonderful dream!

This darkness is an apiary.

She risks saying it.

Her melancholy a fenestra,

moth's wing or transparent sting.

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