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pressed fortune
in the black oil of night
halogen feeler
ignites along the
sleeping stores
slips over cars
and fences
a living ghost of light
and everyone ducks
and freezes not breathing

some of us in the tardark
some of us lumped
as abstract
heads tucked like geese
feeling like sheep
in the camo urban
fleece of everyone

not a breath for the cold
misted vapor like a ghost
the dogs in the back
saving their sport for
the true race..
they know
pulled taut at the door
great legs trembling

the cyclopian fear
on heaps of trash
the remains of
weeks of wrath
the dampness
in the lungs

the mercedes
deisel turning

they pull away
down the block
the night closes
in like a fist to the
fits of coughing
in an arm

and the lead with
a hand on the arm
guiding us fast
as wolves

Editing stage: 


Mr. Wesley once asked me to read his lengthy stuff quickly and I did and than it gave me much fun.
Today I am finding the same advice applicable when it is related to yours. It is much more fun to read paying no much attention to what every word might mean
The overall scene is what counts at the end, I thought.

What does this piece tell me is that people are many and they are very different in how they act and react, aren't they?

PS. Just for others reference "cyclopian" "cyclopean" is related to Cyclops:(Greek mythology) one of a race of giants having a single eye in the middle of their forehead


Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

Follow me

who cares who is in the truck....dogs in the back....the people huddled do not want to be seen...
the giant is whomever has the power to be rather unpleasant....but one can move about freely
at times.....for short durations...i never did much work in life like this....chosing as legit as a path
as i into some pysch trouble early on and that shut doors there fast for any kind of
other paths..but people are these people..they guide....know your place...try you out.
show you where and what without a word so you either understand or dont.and that eye or power
or fear finds you....the savages run to you..they gather you and that is that.....and its never either
or....speed is the studying images to see the movement..there is
an art to that.....studying the changes...but its like a flip book of words...think of it like that..a childs
thumbook...the poems take on a whole new meaning...
in how they may be evenwritten....the speed of the mind of the writer..

zoom zoom zoom..

thank you

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