I am young, it is dark,
and my teeth are not so sharp,
I have thoughts,
bordering on dreams,
of the day when I will grow
new, tall, solid steel,
thinking of men in that childish way –
unfeeling skyscrapers,
craggy cliffs climbing above the waves –
and I have dreams bordering on belief,
that my blood, flesh, the meat of me,
will boil up and all the old bones
will float out to be
hidden under pillows,
replaced by quarters and dimes,
nickels and nightmare

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