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So —

Dead bird on a plate
Stuffed with excuses
On bed of green florets
And julienned carrots
Awaits embalming
By dark secrets sitting
Gravely in white
Porcelain boat.

Tartness of truth
Masked by sweet lies
In bloody cranberries
Seeping inside
As ‘pirations uprooted
Lay mashed by her side.

She who was pardoned
Roams orphaned but freely
And easy like dreaming
Was godmother’s pumpkin
Beaten and folded
In flaky-crust pie.

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