Of Air and Angels
Three times exactly this night
Beckoned a cab held out on me
So the moon is misery, comely legs
And forgive me eyes. Still I happen to love it,
Spite of obvious flaws. I came.
Sodden, loose like gravel, I am gorgeous.
Behind the pub, old child’s response;
Together we make a fine dinner, no?
More or less food your parents made
Lingers, mustn’t admit to sophisticates.
All forgotten by thirty, all desire
Imagined youth’s frivolity.
That it consumes my days, pause, allow
Anger to be coach and agent.
Whenever the ball is lost think,
And how’s the value of the dollar?
We weary sick into sports cliches,
In our own small boats overload freight,
Each weight of hair too too much for
Idle games played ’mongst dairy shelves.
Follow grown ambition; walk and let’s dis-
Engage. The something in things know nothing;
Then angels know nothing, I want nothing
Of you. Wear best faces in daytime, let
Soil be redolent, redundant at night,
Just such enormity
As too much is the air of every morn,
The giver’s lost ambition drowns in water.