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Pro Forma

R. Tristan DeWitt

Through aped datums,
A wan being
Looks through a crystal
To another crystal, doesn’t much care
For reform.

Out in the way-back,
Behind the tinkering shed,
Where venom runs cold between fevers,
These lockers store the gestures of a future.

Opened empty and looked at:
Cobbled frames of
A wagon painted fire blue.

She tore her dress on the portcullis
As it came down.