I was deep in the jungle of Haiti one day
when a witch doctor offered some Voodoo my way.
He said, “Do you believe it or must I convince?”
I said, “Make me appear right back in Port Au Prince!”
“O I see you’re a skeptic,” the witch doctor said
as he wrapped strings of bones from the dead ‘round my head.
When I asked if he got the bones through magic means,
he replied, “No, I have sources behind-the-scenes.”
So I then asked politely with bones o’er my eye,
“Does the Voodoo you do imbue you with a high?”
Then the look that he gave me was measured, indeed:
“The connection with spirits is all that I need.”
I awoke in my Port-Au-Prince modest hotel
none the worse for my wear and appearing quite well.
But right next to my pillow like connected stones
sending chills through my spine was a string of white bones.
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