whose work is this, you think you know.
you’ve watched them develop, watched them grow;
they stare back from the mirror pane &
get inside you, festering in your brain.
the tools are used, the pen it writes,
the brush it paints, the keyboard types &
between those dreams you illustrate
are nightmares fought off
as
it grows
increasingly
late.
s/he brews the coffee,...
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