ANGELS
I'm surely not one to be wrestling
with Gods and the beatific window
dressings I see: five angels clutching
beads, a running man with a fiery
halo, an infant holding things down.
This fortuitous moment itself
knows nothing; runs aside,
tries to glide. Let's put our heads
together, let's sing and praise -
your multi-colored straw bag,
your orange-painted nails,
your sandals and your Snapple.
My God, my God, we have
come to this!
-
Not an occasion for malice, this
watching the sunlight grow,
opening up the nighttime skies
wherein I have been walking
for hours - endless hours that
were not from here. And, yes,
still I know what I see; and they
have dropped me here with
their extended, small wings.
-
Which wings are but concept,
anyway, idea. Like the thought
of how much blue is in that black.
Beatific angels, I ask you. The
light is now playing on the bricks,
and this faulty city is all I see.
Oh in such pain I cry out to you,
please, please, please
listen now to me.
I'm surely not one to be wrestling
with Gods and the beatific window
dressings I see: five angels clutching
beads, a running man with a fiery
halo, an infant holding things down.
This fortuitous moment itself
knows nothing; runs aside,
tries to glide. Let's put our heads
together, let's sing and praise -
your multi-colored straw bag,
your orange-painted nails,
your sandals and your Snapple.
My God, my God, we have
come to this!
-
Not an occasion for malice, this
watching the sunlight grow,
opening up the nighttime skies
wherein I have been walking
for hours - endless hours that
were not from here. And, yes,
still I know what I see; and they
have dropped me here with
their extended, small wings.
-
Which wings are but concept,
anyway, idea. Like the thought
of how much blue is in that black.
Beatific angels, I ask you. The
light is now playing on the bricks,
and this faulty city is all I see.
Oh in such pain I cry out to you,
please, please, please
listen now to me.
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