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Evan Stephens
Poems
Mar 2020
Superstition
Bad luck
to dream
of the living.
Air is gaunt
with memory -
& what might be
across the line?
Moon has died,
stuck there like
a split opal
or cream iris.
Mind is filled
with omens
& char marks
of worry.
To dream
of the living -
night-killer.
Written by
Evan Stephens
44/M/DC
(44/M/DC)
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