Saturday, November 21, 2020

You blue fingered imp,
shrugging with a hidden mirror,
filling a bag with broken letters,
guiding a wounded ram.

Summoning a hurricane of keys
heat to pave a scoured ditch
gathering a circle of eyes
in a chrome fist beating.

Walls that call forth a vagrant shine
some gypsy portal
opening behind the cart
of brushes and wax bags
to be stroked in motion.

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