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I hypnotized the dream doll it came yesterday
The soft pickle hands, the big eyes
I could touch its dreaming
Its hands gnarled
In a vacant hothouse strewn with metal orchids.
It came with a dream catheter miles long, uncouth
It was there I began to worship I could hear it breathe
I came to be the templar
A vanguard for hollowness
It was a matter of looking after—
I was there the night the eyes opened
glowing as a marquee rotten with light
The pink lids grew swollen
I felt the vegetable heads bloom.
Such are the processes
With the poetic peony of birth
Where a star sits fed by fruit flies
Where its dream unfolds as a membrane
to feel the point the shade has
its horrible center In our embrace
in the full hothouse growth of my vegetable head

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
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I kept thinking of this famous Renaissance Painter of vegetable heads. I could not put it together with some lovely thoughts about a birth, and fatherhood.
That it came with a "dream catheter miles long" is a very disturbing image, as it alludes to serious issues of a healthy baby.. it haunted the rest of the poem for me and in the end cannot get the
poem, and your "vegetable head" in relation to the "dream doll" with soft pickle hands, (a lovely image of what the hands of newborns look like. )

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

here to excuse the weirdness of the poem, which is what I was aiming for. It is art! Moral standards do not apply.

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