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by Christine Jupp about a year ago in surreal poetry
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Christine Jupp

Photo by Paul Engel on Unsplash

A pigeon hit my hand


As he flew up I could feel

A small soft head,

Bump and brush my knuckles.

And quick wings took him away

above the walls,

the people.


I could feel you in my mouth

two days ago

brushing my face


Fast breaths

Blue hair

Blonde eyes

And the old woman

hangs our laundry


I can still feel him grab my


Last week.

Rough hands

that hate me now

Liquor eyes,

sad breath,

and a thumb digs

desperation into my cheek

And I fly,

above him,

the people,

and me.

surreal poetry

About the author

Christine Jupp

I call Portland my home, even though I don't see it often.

Mostly poetry.

Some prose and short stories.

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