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I Am Sitting on the Edge
by
Margaret Atwood
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I am sitting on the Edge of the impartial Bed, I have been turned to crystal, you enter Bringing love in the form of a Cardboard box (empty) A pocket (empty) Some hands (also empty) Be careful I say but How can you The empty Thing comes out of your hands, it Fills the room slowly, it is A pressure, a lack of Pressure Like a deep sea Creature with glass bones and wafer Eyes drawn To the surface, I break Open, the pieces of me Shine briefly in your empty hands
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