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Were-with-all (poem)

A trip, a realm, a parallel dimension.

Climb up east, traverse in west,

A monkey and a vixen.

The werewolf prowls, yet never scowls his prey,

instead they scope giant’s faces, moonlit or in day.

Beauty and beast, beast of beauty; strong compassionate throng.

Their skipping ascension without reprehension: sure as day is long.

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It's been a while since I posted a poem. So much irritation subdued in frustration. The creative bell rings less often when these distractions soften the blows to vibration and stifled timing. Here I