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per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt

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"You better take care of me, Lord. If you don't you're gonna have me on your hands."

The banshee's wail haunts the mountains as
One weird star shudders, gutters out-
And, gutpunched, all my first thoughts
Are numb. This is the way his world ends,
While we are left without his jagged wit,
Warped wisdom, in a grim time that needs it-
His sleep leaves us bereft, his ebb leaves us dry.
He savaged away the spun candy lies,
Giving us instead harsh yet healing laughter;
Stripped bare the skull beneath the skin,
Lit candles of awful truth in its eyes-
Lit in me love for the bizarre turn of phrase,
Twisted imagery, dark carnivals of frantic wordplay.
Now he is gone, beyond, altogether lost
As we awaken in the heartsick dawn
And search for frail comfort in his legacy,
The words that blaze still above and around:
Mutant constellations, American forevermore.
- 02/21/2005

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Thank you.

Any ideas where to look for such places?

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