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Poems by Dan Sicoli
guitarmy
dirt/dust kicks up
i cough cigarette exhaust
they were shaking in the cloud
just a mass body function
we fed the fire with big beat
and reeled in bobbing silhouettes
with the knobs of amplifiers
bottles crash and bodies sway
and frankie screams of motorcycles
choking the mike
you can hear them pound
at 3 a.m.
you take their blurry feedback
with white teeth
the strings of my guitar
could work some murder
you find
the only way home
is to die
(Appeared in Alternate Fiction & Poetry)
©2003 Dan Sicoli
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