Sorry for the disturbance
I rub over like iron rust
A thick layer of heavy crust
Right over the heart if you must
These broken wings are angel’s dust
© Delia Ross. 2020
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PoeEternal 
There’s a pile of angel dust
laying gently on the ground
during these days of going to rust
old bones are tired and feeling unsound
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It’s just so rude of me to not even clean it up… or pocket it, to blow in someone’s eye…
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