ravs avatar


He sights the broken candy girls
nest-haired, crying into their ice
and offers company.

He lets them hit him,
lets them kiss him.

They’ve been rolled through society’s tumbler and deemed,
“too poor stone!”
and discarded, while he
manifests in the clouds formed
from cigar smoke and exhaust fumes.

He pays the tab.

All bare ribs and peach fuzz, curls like rotini,
skinny limbs.
His skin, pink in one light, purple in the next,
He has no eyes,
two livers.
No woman catches him and no man will,
and if you look directly at him,
his wings disappear.

2 comments add one below

  • avatar

    Beck Scassellati about 2 years ago

    The title for this one was taken from a line of another work for a school assignment. (The story itself has nothing to do with that original work.) It's been so long since this assignment, however, that I can't remember if it was a poem or short story that I found the phrase "lounge angel" in.

  • avatar

    Justin L. California 12 months ago

    This inspired me to convert my poem “Sochi Games” into a Drabble (my first here), and into an homage for a lost love.

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