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Poem for Jon Puckett, by Sheri

Poem for Jon Puckett When the world wasn't spinning, the beer went flat and I think I got a taste of what it's like to be you always trying to finish what you started. Sure, the last impossible thing was quitting, but why not, darkness blotched my eyes til I was rubbing in stars. I see North to South like a vertical high and low appearing to run like a river in every song and book knowing enough to get by over it holding onto to nothing. Done. Done. On with the next one. Wrote the Globe as Art during short phase of the moon marshmallow flying off I think it stuck. Things become less shocking when you value that river and know your place.

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