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The clinically depressed partial insomniac
with a worrying attachment to sponges wants
to talk to you. She says she can’t figure out how
(in her overly-gestured black and white state)
the rest of the world is in technicolor.
She wanted to tell you that her mother accidentally
threw out her crumpled soul-mate, which, incidentally,
was the silver paper from a chewing gum wrapper.
Oh, and Sarah’s on the other line.
Laura Burdon
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