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I’ll see you in my dreams -
Jayne Mansfield’s dog, shabby and battered
on the Pontchartrain causeway, Oswald’s mouth
torn open like a wound, Albert Anastasia done dripping
beside the barber chair.

Brown is black, red is black, but black is black, too.
Spill and shadow, almost equivalent, cut hard line
against the blown-out white holes like cold stars
as if all behind the picture’s plane was light,
as if we could look at it without shame.

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