COYOTE BLOOD
poetry, art, mistakes, music, love, visions and everything...
'Upward Rush of Fleeting Devoiton'
Her,
in her studio,
painting.
Ear buds in,
music on,
splattered overalls.
She doesn't see me,
she is in the concentration boogie,
but I can't take my eyes off her.
What do you call this piece,
I finally speak up,
and she just says "The Poet."
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