So what is it?
Is it the distress of form,
Or the dilution of color?
Is it less than the neat grass knots I tied and hair-parts which
Have gone through great lengths to be
Puzzled for, and looked upon?
I think it's a cloud of yarn. I think it's an impressive cat--
And not human at all.
I mean, look, there are its teeth, and too, its sharp, peach-lidded eyes.
But what else.
Because something determinate must address our misfortunes with
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