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by Lisa Zaran


I dreamed last night
that I bought a new pair
of shoes, spiked heels
and kicked a hole
through the moon

and I was anything
but foolish.

I dreamed you were
there, my rival.
Still, I opened the door.
I think I clattered like dice
and almost tipped over,
almost spilled my glass of wine,
sent my lit cigarette swirling

into a cusp of starlight.


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