We're all caricatures

in

We’re caricatures
of our childhood dreams,
now limp dolls
with glassy eyes
on inflated heads
above wrinkling bodies.

We grip
our kaleidoscopes
of stars and sequins,
our magnets
tickling iron dust,
our microscopes
that enlarge life.

When did we stop
tinkering with them?
When did we droop
into plastic dolls?

We’re all caricatures
of our childhood dreams.
It’s almost comedic.

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