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Paper written by: Yves K. Morrow   I am paper in the hands of a child. You touch me carelessly. Your eager fingers smudge my skin until all that is left is a window of a woman, a tragic sliver of white in an ever darkening room. I thin beneath your constant erasure. What I was and what I am interchangeable and imperfect. My needs are inconsequential, my nerves naked, my heart fuzzy and grey. I am merely a product … Continue reading Paper