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Dec 2018
The pulsing,
the throbbing
of the magic orb
beckons me
downward.

The sun set early
quaking in fear
at the prospect
of my appearance.

The moon is nothing
but a faded memory.

The sky is lit up
by my entrails.

I crash land

exploding into your fertile spaces,
becoming a spectacle,
becoming a god.

I am a rock.
I am a star.
I am a rock star

baby.
My favorite poem to read out loud…gives me power!
John Destalo
Written by
John Destalo  55/M/Harrisburg, PA
(55/M/Harrisburg, PA)   
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