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Your face is made

of handmade paper

after settling down in the sieves with molasses of great sleep -

your face is made of veins

of railroad tracks

carrying the deportation trains as a hateful spit -

your face is the sleepers, your face is the sieve

through which you thrust our water

and I don't know

whether there will be gold on the bottom

or a rift in the railways after a flood

or just the empty hands

of the handmade paper of your face

which no train can ever bring back

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