by Marc Gunn, Sept 15, 2004

There was live music out behind the Texas Union that inspired this wee poem.

Angels and demons in motion,
Waves of electric guitar
And erratic breathes of moist air.
Song after song in pointless repetition
While people ebb in time.

An angel rubs her eye.
Gold Hispanic skin in a white t-shirt,
She brushes away sensual curls
Of oaken bark colored hair
That leave a trail of young demons
Wandering up concrete trails
To a towering pillar of Texas masculinity.