- Non-Erotic Poetry
- They Call Him Dr. John
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The sounds of a rolling drum conjure the conjurers. The drum invokes the ceremony. I long for the tug of a summonsing. The errant particles of magic have no more power here. I'm left to create you piece by piece. I've located the voice, the cock, almost the arms that felt right around me. The only thing left, the real connection:the unexplainable bond. The unconditional--the foolish admiration.
I believe! I believe!
(In a voice like his with breadth and depth)
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