Poetry Blog by Gus Jonsson (2017)

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The Angel

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It was the music that he had heard first followed by all the angry madness, the garish badness, a badness in which she delighted. She was all dressed up nines and tens, her eyes flashing green over her overly played garish makeup that had frightened her youth away. The tinny tinkle of her rings and things, singing and pinging their market stall magic into the damp dirty air as they cut sharps and ...

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