lace crawls around from the edges of your face towards your nose
it fills your airways with spun eiderdown whiteness and spins its way down your throat into your stomach
where it writhes awhile
before slumbering a heavy slumber there.
you have no idea about the doily sheen spooling out from your eyes and weaving your body for you
a decent favor;
your cushy lace feet absorb the soil and ragged chunks of you fall off in the rain
a sodden pinata
children follow you, you haven't anuthing to give them.
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