My tank was drained, and I looked around,
I only saw another sibling, Who looked like me, except I was No longer me; I was scribbling, I’d forgotten how to sign My name. I was an image in A mirror, and there were a thousand Mirrors, every man with a grin Is a king, I looked and saw A dust devil filled with scraps Of magazines and album covers, I lost my topographic maps, Where was the mountain, was There even such a thing? Attach A cam to a mountain and trust, Yearn to be like them, to match Their yearning. Do not collapse when You see the spread of invasive plants Rolling across Massachusetts, creating A surface scent of false romance.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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