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In a vast glass wall a young woman opens
The door inward, that should really open out,
A blonde, her thoughts open out, in a state.
The color of hair is not a state of affairs.
But no, she is not a blonde, nor do blondes
Open their outward opening doors inside.

The glass wall shuts out most of her light
With a door that has no doorman in mustaches
Opening a door to a cold night of reason.
A body is embroiled in a state of affairs,
A body that will one day be behind the glass
Saying not much in its pantomimic gestures.