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Dusty molecules bounce with righteous riffs
to stuff your chest with feathery melody.
Tonight, you are the winged beast.
Breathe deep, rock of ages, breathe full, and shout out crescent moons to make howling crowds
swoon.

Violet antics,
frantic for itchy fingers
or coke-head angels,
search the night for that one guitar pick you fed to a sinkhole of brains and jet black hair.

But the electricity burns out at 9 pm.
Sharp.




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