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Ali Baba (from the sky)

We are still

under the sky,

In the guest room;

Beast and cryptic.


Everything crawls.

A car flings us.

I see one peeling

The middle east.


Down there, it’s still

Exotic; an open sore,

With a mule-cart

Full of gold.


Vicky Curtin

Vicky Curtin

I am a poet who paints and draws - originally from Auckland; now living in the Waikato.

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