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Joyelle McSweeney
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A Caper
 

In the lecture hall, Horatio P.
considers the symbolism, works out the proof.
Time is somewhat ‘up’.

The screens flip on: beautiful hot-toned horizons
slice like shields across the hall
and pin our foil to his seat.

He requests a second look at the figures.
The question wriggles like a snake
up the decision tree:









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