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.
Seductive fingers slide on strings
and attack with plucks and picks.
Immersing in the vibe relaxes,
I crave a few more licks.
Haunting laments transport me,
and raspy voices sing my pain.
Resonating within my head
I ache to hear it again.
Bluesman with your mojo hand,
with the spirit of the Voodoo Chile,
enchant me and entrance me
and extend my rapture for a while.
I weep with you in sadness,
my heart aches with your grief.
Your blood, your sweat, your soul
vocalizing blues relief.
Mystic mojo master,
you ease my troubled mind.
The blues evokes a language
giving eyesight to the blind.
…
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Gotta Find a Home: Conversations with Street People
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They Call Me Red:
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Private Eye: Eugene Leftowicz
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Podcasts:
http://buff.ly/1Pxlf9p Sara Troy: Self-Discovery Media
http://buff.ly/1XU368M Sara Troy: Positive Vibrations Roundtable
http://buff.ly/2jdjZd6 Patricia Saunders: Writetimes Literacy Project