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Virginia Slim

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Toilet Paper Wanted to be a papier-mâché ballerina, a kerchief, a statue’s white skin, to unroll like a bandage and lie down like a flower, like a bow on a precious package. Kin to napkin and book, although few acknowledge the bond; with its tender flesh gone, its skeleton-tube is exposed. Tossed among the glass-eyed envelopes by a hand that is empty and mortal, stiff-sleeved and yellow-skinned.
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