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The old actor
with a face of gristle
specked like mold with
thick, short
and colorless hairs
and almost no eyes
at all—
the old actor
with the $200,000 voice,
strained, weak and
tired, says "I don't know
anymore" fifteen times
successively, his life
and final breath
passing
again and again,
monotonous like mass
execution
.

The old actor stands, taller than you
or I would ever expect,
squints,
and when I ask if re-
hearsing his own death
is a bit disconcerting,
he smiles, reading
no lines
, and says "I don't know
if it's the best job in the world,
but maybe it's the only
one."



      - These are the dreams that break us -

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