This is a shadow fly.
It lives in slights of hand, behind sun rays, stars, and souls.
A shadow fly eats spirits, slips, and stews.
It likes searching, sneeking, sliding, and swimming in dark lagoons.
It sings, shares, strikes, and slips into sentences like Freud.
Today it slithered into the shadows of my subconscious,
Screamed, and slipped into my poems.
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