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CATHERINE PIERCE
In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Film Noir
What I love is to be behind things—
opaque glass doors. Smoke
rings drifting like fog. Dark glasses
large as eclipses. Schemes.
Leave your hat on. It casts
a distinctive shadow.
All the way down
the oil-slicked alley
I can watch you
watch me. 
Contributor’s
notes
In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Western
In Which I Imagine Myself Into a Slasher Flick
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