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P
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e
m
s

I miss the ego goo of youth

hot peaches in a bowl   so yielding

I felt tender toward my tick

that plushy bug who stuck and sucked

the cold place on my neck

who filled up on what filled me    without shame

The doctor tweezed him off

I said   No no   this creature’s

mined the cyst of me for food

how can we yank him   from his only host

how can we slay the tiny saint

who drains me of the sorrow of myself?