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the lack
of the ever-after that i faced was strong,
docile yet ruthless,
pregnable though nebulous,
spade of deep holes,
a stereotype of a Tarot face.
to dig in creases and flexes
of luminous facial features;
to unearth kernels of kindness and warmth,
and yet still find no truth;
to ride a wolf that becomes a shark,
as it plunges into primal meat,
and still not find an heroic bone . . .
no matter how careful and tender,
i could not love the glittery script,
these ending propped with fearful hope
far too plastic.
so many calculative toads,
bubbling up through algorthims of prince and princess.
it meant that any first kiss, no matter how magical,
granted no ever-after at all.
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