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Circe 423
screaming on the doorstep
a drunken scrambler, a
warner of coming black luck
shirt of hair now askew
stick for leg
mouth of rags
how will you laugh?
passing Daedalus in the crowd,
you burst into light
and are lit by night
a father falls through the shrill air
the child dreams beautiful navies
and listens for the crash of dishes
signs rise from the smoke
singing wanders out from the lane
we, waiting, watch on the corner.
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