Presence - Poem by Troy Cochran
It's the moment point that holds the magic.
Not the backward glance
with the hidden blade of a dull regret.
Nor yet the whirling dervish of a tossed hatchet,
the crazy acrobat, the mis-step
of over-aiming your target
(... the looking right, ... the looking left, ...
the disbelief! ... the exit! ...)
I like to keep my canvas always white
painting only with a focus.
I like to line my stars up right.
If it doesn't wink, that's not my problem.
I flick it from my cosmic.
I am the Sheriff around these parts
and what I say has some importance
... to me, at least; to you, a joke.
It takes a little practice; and, perhaps,
one too many smokes
To flow the power down your sleeve
and start your day out with a poke.
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The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You