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The night passes in a rush As I follow the white lines To my destination Watching the night and day merge As they become each other The falling white dust Settles in rows On glass not in it Measuring my waking time I mix freely ingesting The water-cooled concoction That transports the troubled soul Sometimes a song or a poem Of love never hate Are born from the powder and smoke But then the need for dreaming Is urgent is insistent As I am stirred from insomnia And ferried by Charon o'er to Morpheus A place of no pain no memory And all things are possible From where I may rise like the fable Rejuvenated renewed repaired and ready Once more for the night. Mac |
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