Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Lee Collins
Fluttering in their gray cloaks,
a fast voodoo magic act
for slow folks.
Twilight bats don't wait
to bait the bugs they just ate.
With spooky slight of flight
in tight intoxicating figure eights,
bewitching bats locate,
snack on even itty-bitty gnats,
sawing in half every tidbit fly
with silent, sonic second sight.
Their many flickering wings
shuffle hauntingly in midair
like an eerie deck of cards.
A shadow dance by slick wizards
of a nipping vampire bite.
Then, as quickly as my life,
it all disappears in a flash.
Real voodoo magic never lasts,
it slips into the past
before my mystified eyes
by the time Big Dipper drips
infinite, undying stars
into the night sky.

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