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Collected Poetry

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poetry and digital art

Passion Eddy  

Book two of impromptu trilogy.

  The Night


They were so wicked they could fly
and somehow they got into your dreams

and really messed you up and pushed you
around until at last you beat them violently

with an oddly long stick until you, too, shook
with fury and the birds then woke you

with their strange and shrill morning songs
—so repetitive and unnerving

that you finally got up and went to work
pausing briefly at the door to say good-bye:

the night was a grimy place where you slept
next to a beautiful, white woman.



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