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I Don't Want a Cookie

I don’t want a cookie
or a roll.
I don’t want you thinking
I’m lost because
once I was sad enough
to write it down,
or because faces
make me cry
with the kindness
of their teeth.
It’s not for you to bear
the flaws in my voice
from a ghost I’m chewing,
when I’m more attentive
to the break in the threshold
than to your hips
in the doorway.

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