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I'm like the dog in Duck Hunt: impish smile,

brown skin, white teeth, and you just can't shoot me!
No matter how close you put the gun, I'll
just keep laughing until you reboot me:
That is, the dog becomes the game, is it;
the beagle's bugle is our instrument; 
the terrier's terroir wants to visit
itself upon us to shape our moment:
Hand-eye coordination skipping the eyes
becomes hand-to-hand combat, or hand-to-
mind tactfulness; healing hands realize
that this "real" life is too much to handle:
So we open up worlds by closing wounds;
like plastic guns, my words must make no sounds.
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