faded people flipping
through paper mache picture books
to compare my insect legs
to their modest stock market
crash dolls
and their Nixon midriffs
but my cardigan smells more historic
so I write you a letter in
crayon, sea foam green
and melt it down
using aged nostrils as my seal
p.s. love, write back
quickly, the baby is buried
in the pumpkins and
oxygen is scarce
taken by s.sleevi
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