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  • R.T.

Half Both

I have come from black-heart

and vortex-haze mind;

from the depress upon my brain and chest

and the psychosis deep in my skull-well


which is like a glass that I fill,

full to the brim with that new carton—

milk spilled atop the counter in dribbles, and yet

I see more than a glass half,

it’s a glass crowded with white;

with milk I cry joy about.

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