pixie

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Pixie


This house holds many souls.
They crowd its bleakest lonely moments.
Their fingerprints live on its stones.

They are pacific folk, and do not jostle.

Now they vibrate with refreshment.
A pixie was here,
Firing something sub-atomic.

It knocked the grain from the memory,
Leaving a picture quickly bright and crisp.

My phantoms love it.

They are massaging my shoulders.


Philip White












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