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Drifter
By Ellen Shelley

The world spins
an awkward apparition
changes step only when the wind swirls
riding out the storm
gathering up your waif frame
finding peace,
a crutch within your veins.

The rain is the city
a melodic trance
tapping your walls
weeping acceptance like
music on hollowed reeds
your skin blisters then falls
marking your beat.

A cold gust of night
urges your shift

​smoke engulfs              your face
invisible on swollen streets
a thorn in the wind
lost in all directions.

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