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Butterfly Effects
Last night a powerful force
was juggled between ocean-going butterflies.
A little ripple in Bermuda
blew its lid in Indonesia.
People died and survived to be recalled
by the living in the morning.
Dreaming hands built beer-caves
for their foamy drools,
fingers raised hedge funds.
Ripples sex-blitzed
elderly spinsters with an erotica,
that made their eyelids flutter.
Personally speaking,
somewhere before dawn
I became a Russian novel,
there was snow, there was a steam-train,
Cossacks arrived, blood was spilled,
the dead fell asleep in my bed.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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