.
First thought: the sharp delicacy
of the creases
this cardboard discard on the
sidewalk
displayed were far less about chaos
than clarity.
Even its grease spots, stray threads
and rug
.
fibers suggested a parity with what
the crumpled
cut-out cardboard creature’s
idea might have
been had it pondered the nature
of hair –
that is, if it had more for
brains than blank air.
.
But who said it hadn’t? Whoever
had artfully
scissored, incised and revised
it into this sweet
intricate form seemed to me to
have seeded it
somehow with all the warm prospects
of mind
.
and intention and sentience. It
had already eerily
churned in its pencil-drawn
eyes a frank gaze
full of message I sensed it had
terrible ways
of conveying to me with intensity.
Dread threw
.
its freeze and its heat at my heart:
I wasn’t
prepared in this play for this
part. I looked away
roughly, abruptly, and felt my
throat thicken.
Couldn’t bear to look into its
eyes. I was chicken.
.
.
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