her way out of this world, the sizzling metal smell of it, the swollen purple eye of it, the dull scissors edge of it. Ida is axing the oak-treed ice-teed fakery of it, the caves and mazes and smothering sinkholes, the grasping hive-mind hands of it, the well-trodden path, the jackbooted righteous steps of it, thought thickets and poison ivy clamoring for her brain. Ida is axing her way out of this world, from smiling paper dolls who vanish at a touch, from blank checks and nip ‘n tucks, from wombless robots that can only pretend. Ida is axing dizzy slide puzzles, fickle-screened cross words, the endless monopoly of me,me,me that drags her through the mud of it, the gold man statues & designer ball gowns, the perfect partner, the postcard vacay, the two-sided face of it.
Ida is axing down the flag pole and resewing the flag.
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