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excerpt from Sugar Pains Me
Because of you, in garments of blossoming flu
I ache from the perfection of spruce. I have forgotten
your fable, I no longer remember your hammer;
How did your lion feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white stationary
drowsing in the parlor,
the white stationary that has neither vocabulary,
nor sign.
—Aimee Nezhukumatathil
