Turn around and there I am.
The lights here are more unforgiving, so
different from the ones I am used to.
Something about
foreign feeling makes you feel
all bland inside -- an overripe orange. My
face looks botched up, ready
to be crumpled up at a moment's indecision. I am paper --
still blank but self-important. I do not know
if I am ready to say, Something new please, this time.
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