Here is the church
where I will look
on the leaden cheeks,
plastic lips and powdered
eyes masquerading as yours
beneath layers of paint.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
where row upon row
of eyes will watch me watch
you, lying as if asleep
almost.
Here is the church
here is the steeple
open the doors
see all the people.
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Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words
