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Come In.

Come In

   Come in
   I see you
   Sad, sick, thoroughly disturbed
   An imbricate mirror for this dead, new world
   Its false life plays upon your face
   Like a sappy, sloppy picture show
   Reeling eternal
   Feeding, frenzied, sucking all spirit, time and truth away
   But aren't the lights so pretty?
   Deceptive, forgetful, vain?
   I see the whimsy their shades project across your vacant eyes
   Now as before
   Disemboweled and soulless
   Reflecting bitter decay
   Now as always
   Caustic and corrosive
   Yet another painted corpse
   Fit for presentation
   Waxing perfection

Naomi Pace (New Rochelle, NY). Coming on your listing in Poet's Market was a relief. All that cover letter crap was beginning to piss me off ... every listing outlining all the usual b.s.--we're liberal-minded and revelers of art but no this and no that and blah, blah, blah. After spending several years in limbo--sometimes, I'm not sure I ever came out, studying for my bachelor's degree (English), traveling, etc., I have not made any attempts furthering my poetical endeavors until now--perhaps, it is only now I am ready to take the inane on head on.

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Author:Pace, Naomi
Publication:The American Dissident
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2001
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