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I Have no Shell MAG
“I choose optimism,” you say
 and crack an egg on the edge of the pan.
 You urge it to emerge with your thumbs.
 It is obedient. It is dumb with trust.
 (I am disgusted by its lack of knowledge.)
 
 You lean in to watch it turn opaque.
 Then you turn your back to it
 (we each of us has our own fate),
 you say: “otherwise, what is there?”
 I have no answer.
 
 (Inside I am trying to come up with reasons
 I am different from that egg.)

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