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by Karla Linn Merrifield

I look in the mirror
see a woman half-masked
a spooler service error of the face
half of my visage refused
to be reproduced in living flesh
am I comedy or tragedy
in the half-white half-blank
eye and mouth hole
I am unable to breathe my body
odor of half-mile walk at dusk
my muskiness is halved and quartered
the evening after the morning

of the super blue blood moon
half-eclipsed as I am now mirrored.


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