A Stranger Shook my Hand


From the sky, like rain on a sunny day,

blazing like arson, a stranger walked in,

shook my hand and asked how I fared.

His hand melted goo through my fingers.

Jumped back in warped skill, he took me,

fled with my expression still open wide,

shut tight in frightened delighted airspace.

And we toured the streaming veins of time,

spinning til the G’s popped open our eyes.

By then his smile lingered Cheshire drawn

while the faint stain painted a rose dying

in my hand’s palm he clasped as life lines.

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