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Joyelle McSweeney
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A Caper
The hero rests by the glittering lake
of nucleotides, peptides.
She dreams of the groovy motherboard
she crossed by motorbike.

Her burden? It bundles at bottom of the tree.

The hero beautified! Her hair falls down in two dimension.
Her pretty jaw set.
Her foil robe laid on with the tiniest tools.

Her hand strokes the water like the strings of a lyre,
and the ripples stroke her hand. Her jeweled eyes open
as notes lift from her throat. They wave and bend
like the boughs of the willow tree

but regularly. Willow bones
knit into a basket at her feet.
She gets up and paces the foreshortened border.

She picks up the body whose face is familiar.
She kneels down and knocks on the side of the bank.
It clanks but does not open.

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