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Too Many Angels
By Jada Jones
Walk outside embraced securely by the air massaging your hair and kisses to your face
challenges invisibly laced with revelations in stealth mode pirouette into your space.
Clear mind, mildly stained heart pumping residue so pure beating a saturated decorous gift
pavement, dirt soaked with sunlit sparkles, cracks, fades and stands at lift.
Single waves of weave strands dancing in the wind, dingy and separated from its weft
at a glance garbage kites flying in procession, keep moving you’re almost there.
Sirens, sweat, fear, cars swiftly pass you there’s a crime you’re not the owner
Exhale, relax, why fear, I’m good, no consequence keep moving, no they turned the corner.
Burn, pierced, intense, can’t breathe, waning, no air, no sun, no trash, no weave, alone, I’m gone!