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ELIZABETH SMITHER

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Picasso’s tenderness

 

A nose with two eyes high in it

as if they’ve fled together from

what is on the other side of the face

what the face is facing.

 

And the nose so big and high and forlorn.

How tender it is. Not a bone

but a veil over sharpness

which a second after is melting.

 

Could we arrange our faces this way

how clear it would be. Misery, misery

and from it, as it dissolves and weeps,

beauty, beauty.

 

 

 

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