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Sandman: on vacation
Slumber crawling, surfaces, grating over me The Sandman’s dust, a storm on bruised skin His wand clummsily turning, his hand hurried A dreamless night with sand burning the eye
Street fights arrive before the sun shyly smiles Just as the Sandman supposes to get it right Hot pillows, tangled sheets all agree to meet Ticking off another Harlem night as sleepless
©aig 2015