Monday, March 16, 2009

Pulp Poem of the Week

In the magician's land of make-believe and illusion
what one doesn't see is always there . . .
only one doesn't see it
until the conjurer is ready to show it.
The silks are stuffed within the hollow egg,
the flowers collapsed within the palm of his hand,
the card concealed on the back of his fingers.
But death is the greatest necromancer of all;
in a moment of inattention,
he makes his sleight and palms a life,
and one does not realize
that the breathing figure is gone.
Bill S. Ballinger
The Tooth and the Nail

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