Monday, September 14, 2009

mxxii

There’s an angel in my bed
ten years before I’m born.   It’s
burning for something I’ll do
fifty years hence.   Later that night,
we meet at a telephone pole.
Angels slip in and out of their
skin, melt-like, leaving your pants
oozing down the storm drain,
headlamps coming at you
from the wrong side of the road.