I have strung my doll’s blue bag
on the Internet cord so it can be
a magical cloud above her head
or maybe an aurora made physical
while listening to Tchaikovsky’s
Nutcracker Suite over and over
since I hate the follow-up Vivaldi
with his version of Spring played
on violins slicing my ears with
their sharp, thin sounds, it is as
if he saw spring dancing in on
razor-sharp streams of sunshine
to cleave open the beauty of winter
and destroy every geometrically
pleasing snowflake…
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