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Tuesday, January 30, 2018

The Shaman

Rich with heaven and hell
bones engraved by history’s
endless column of gray misty pain
skin like a Great War battlefield
nacreous skull tall
and filled with stained glass windows
light warming 
the brain of his butterfly through
stomach full of taste buds
his head a seamless aigrette
bars of ice in his throat
holding the fire within
and blood the flavor of cherry
He could confuse the laws of karma.
Could play the chords correctly incorrect
earn a robber peace
or twist justice out of lies
and monsters with static for a face.
Smarter than the elders and dumb
to the universe
badly weakened, barely able to breathe
unable to procreate.
Language did not restrict him.
Thoughts did not govern him.
Dreams did not stop.

He came this way one time.
I invited him in for gumbo and whiskey.
He left and now all is well.

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