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Saturday, November 13, 2010

A poem, by me, for p. 8

The shift finds me

Disoriented

Agitation gnaws at my foot

But my arteries throb harder, louder

And freeze.



It is nothing of any importance

To them at least

But the wheel begins to turn

Water is cycling now.



Dirty water, wild water

Violent and jarring, so that

The conductor spins around--

Arms flail madly.



Death maybe-- or madness

She said no

But perhaps just to tell me

And the water would calm.



News came through

Transistor of vocal vibrations

Then came the old pitter-pattering

On the tin above our heads.

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