Today she
wasn’t anyone
she’d ever been
before.
She surely
wasn’t she.
In fact, she
seemed to have
produced a
spruce
protuberance erupting
from her pate
that quite
equated with
an uninvited “he.”
Colors
wrapped around
them randomly
-- and bred,
perhaps, the
dawning
of a thought
that what
she’d wrought
was not
so much a renovated
“me”
as some
collective renegade
of undiscovered
“you.”
Other revelations,
though, were
few.
.
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