Angelism
Pause to realize the value of our friendship.
He’s the most important longshot.
And now,
next month,
turn over and eat the pillow.
Pity is,
penetrating an angel is
a bit like sinking in quicksand.
Stings like a hornet
or a Google alert at 3am:
Mountain Sunk; Must Plunder Other.
Meaningless upon hopelessness,
waking up with Edna St. Vincent Millay
(and a sore throat!).
It burns. But in a way that
melts your pants.
“Say whatever you want,
he doesn’t understand a
lick of English.”
“If that’s what you value in language.”
Angels and angels.
The tall ones.
Robust and ripe,
like big 80’s hair.
Thank God it’s gone. Most of it.
But. But.
Now look at me,
curled up from non-existence.
Thick. Ready for dinner.
Reach me through Google.
(another arm-ache from too much cyber-fisting)
