Jonathan Hayes

Jonathan Hayes

 

 






 

 

An angel, once you’ve fallen

 

little finger chipping away at red nail polish

blotches of ten cherry wounds remain

blue jeans swaying a tributary

slapped by the turnstile

statuary hands move quiet

collecting stares at the trolley stop

hair: silent & dramatic

we paint you

until you have left our vision

 

 

 

 

 

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