Poetry. A solar wind behind the coin of the moon. / The corona now gray in its curtain over the sky. / When I step down from the height of the car to the gravel lot / My tinsel wings take the light and make it wink, / Catch the eye of a crow who opens the door of his giant car / For the other crows to see and says, // "Hey Kid, kid. Are you a fairy?" / They all laugh, not too loud / In case anyone hears them.
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