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Sally Van Doren

My stereotype is your automatic
Duende. Our cousins, arrested
In distractions so ubiquitous
The clouds can’t temper them,

Catalogue their superstitions
With e-mailed poultices. And
We still call our defects family.
I spasm when you order me to

Put the powder under my tongue.
I’m a congealing bohemian, not
An alchemist. Leave me in my
Zirconium tub, scavenging for

Helium. When I enter the chasm
Of health, I’ll send you a fluoride
Rebate. The snake’s bite dries on
My arm just the like the pages and

Pages of your impotence. It’s all
Me, me, me and my name is
Experience. I trust you to diagnose
My identity. Do it now!

Sally Van Doren

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