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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. |
