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Into and out of dreams

Frequent flier radio stations with matching baggage
On the inside looking out - on the ledge, leaning
He may have wanted fluffy cloud slumber
But found himself instead
haunted by staccato thunderstorms

More urgent than soothing rhythms and the
dulcet footwork he was accustomed to hearing and
not expecting Tinkerbelle to be armed to the teeth,
locked and loaded
A guerilla chanteuse with camouflage tutu

Cold sweat- wide awake now
And at the end of his bed,
a single black shoe and an empty cartridge

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