Poetry in Spoken Word by Tracy Kocsis - HTML preview
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Slithering over my feet
And under the covers,
The tentacle takes aim
He moves towards my head.
I don’t fear him-
I’m uncertain of his purpose.
I don’t know his motives,
This creature may be benevolent
Or he may be harnessing something evil.
Just as I ask his business here,
His body turns to dust,
Particles disintegrate into the air.