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She sucks the oxygen from the room
Where ever she goes the cameras loom.
They're on to the scent of her perfume.
She sucks the oxygen from the room..
Forever in the public eye, all daily movements scrutinized.
She must dot all x's and circle her y's
Transparent as a bronze gold fish.
Isolated, observed, on a petri dish,
craving for some privacy, a daily wish..
She pulls up her quilt and sleeps until noon,
aware of the face she'll be wearing soon.
She sucks the oxygen from the room.
Copyright ©
Nancy Kaufman
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