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Under the Voodoo




We are all under the voodoo: All the beautiful voices, All the stumbling feet, All inchoate noises, Rumbling under the street. All the comfortable faces, Peeking from windows above; All indelible traces Of hatred, indifference, or love. The voodoo is fire and death, Wind, and moon, and water; There’s voodoo in every breath, Born before and after. This is not your private table; It’s not your drink to drink. The truth’s always bubbling, boiling, unstable -- It’s not your thought to think. You have to die to the self you thought you would be Under the Voodoo. Everyone’s hearing voices, Tingling down to their feet; The isle is full of noises And voodoo under the street. You are not the one who suffers You’re not the one to sing You are not the one who matters The voodoo is everything We are all under the voodoo…

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