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Collected Poetry

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poetry and digital art

Diesel Eddy  

Book three of impromptu trilogy.

  Journal of Smoke and Dancers


The one-winged angel stood at the edge of the dance floor
with her deformity to wall.  Even so, the light

danced about the dance floor, marionette of the drum
machine.  The music was so strong it could easily

pull your pants down.  The boys were tattooed and ugly
and when they weren't trying to maim each other

they smoked things.  They talked about it sullenly,
or they just stood there looking at your waist

and licking their pursed lips with anticipation.
The one-winged one dared not scratch the itch

as other girls danced like emus until the music
ceased, when they fled behind smoke trails—sweating,
      engorged and at risk.



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