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Mirrorform: Visionary

I see what’s almost there—
a book-shaped gap in a thought
or the sex in the statesman’s obit,
cracks in the exosphere.

Let rubberneckers stare
at the fur the killer wore,
the flash of flesh at the tear.
I see what’s almost there.  

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   Contributor’s notes

   Mirrorform: Shapeshifter
   Mirrorform: The Living Dead
   Mirrorform: Visionary

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