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Authors:

the other guineahen
died of a broken heart and we came to New York.
I used to sit at a table, drawing wings
with a pencil that kept breaking and i kept
remembering how your mind looked when it slept
for several years, to wake up asking why.
So then you turned into a photograph

of somebody who’s trying not to laugh
at somebody who’s trying not to cry

E. E. Cummings