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I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.
The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.