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Haunted By Morrison


Wavy Black hair all unkept 
while he leers at me in contempt. 
Dark and soulful kept up the gaze 
as he lingers on in a daze. 
 
Yes, it’s a dream, frustrating 
to say the least, or crumbling 
my fortitude, since I’m haunted 
by Morrison feeling daunted. 
 
Not saying a word, as if he knew 
that my words could stir, ensue. 
My stomach tumbling confused 
at the eyes that aren’t my rescue. 
 
I’m haunted by Morrison in dreams 
of intoxication that cloud and teams. 
Haunted by Morrison in lucid thoughts 
that saddens my heart when sought. 
 
This time he brings circles of light 
twirling in my closed eyes tonight. 
Should I be scared of the images 
that build inside my own processes? 
 
Haunted by Morrison in enclaves, 
while establishing as a music slave. 
Haunted by Morrison in tiny gaps 
that builds into enormous maps. 
 
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2013
 
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About Terri Prada

Writer/Poet/Wife/Mother with 3 copyrighted manuscripts: 1 is a Fantasy novel from 1994 (Updated 2013 for Publishing on Amazon/Kindle Direct) and the other 2 are for Volumes I & II in a book of poetry co-authored with aunt, Candace Clawson from 2008 & 2013 (Published also on Amazon/Kindle Direct in Oct 2013). Born in Renton, WA and grew up about 20 miles from where Bob Dylan grew up. Currently working on another volume of poems.

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