The last public letter
writer has no mirror.
Every morning, she rises from the ground
And models herself on a faded photo
From 1910. She wills herself into focus,
Dabs on a touch or two of color,
Waits for customers. There are always some.
Every morning, she rises from the ground
And models herself on a faded photo
From 1910. She wills herself into focus,
Dabs on a touch or two of color,
Waits for customers. There are always some.
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