In Oz
Westside Witch,
walk in line
down yellow brick,
up emerald hills,
conjure pathlight, you
egomaniac-Dorothy-machine
gobbling children’s shoes.
Andrew J. Stone lives and writes under a thick cloud of LA smog. These conditions either have everything or nothing to do with the fact that he is almost finished with an ekphrastic chap. If you don't believe him, investigate his every post at his blog: http://andrewjstone.blogspot.com/
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