April 22, 2007

It waits in the mirror
like a photograph you were cut from.
It is the dark plane behind your curls,
the blindness you unfurl to, tentative
as a boy by a cliff edge testing clouds
for firmness like fruit that poisons

once in a blue moon. It offers and you
feel barbs itch to root inside you
and lay bloodworm eggs, the opposite
of wings. Sometimes it takes shape,
when the shell teeters to crack and pour
or when you are stilled enough to hear
feathers wake like a rift in dukkha.


5 Responses to “angel”

  1. Dave Bonta said

    Good stuff. Just two hours ago I was reading up on the archangel/deity of the Yazidis, which the Muslims regard as Satan in disguise.

  2. dream listener said


  3. dream listener said

    p.s. and worth the wait!

  4. Scavella said

    I would rethink the line like a photograph you were cut out of; the prepositions weaken it unnecessarily and the whole poem suffers. The rest is strong, and deserves better treatment from that line.


  5. I’ve just discovered your blog and have enjoyed reading your most recent poems. Excellent work! I’ll visit again soon!

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