we invented angels . 

beneath the brawn of skin
the pock of age 
spinning sweat for escape 
a purpose for craned necks
and volume for books 

we needed a shape for hope. 

indescernable from our fevered tongues
to spill us from these iron lungs
compressants quenched
and lift toward the spiraling smoke 
the ecstacy of backroom chatter 
of porch-lit memory 

we invented angels. 

Read and leave comments (0)

Sell Me Something More Than Snake Oil And Lies

They say that pulling down statues

Is rewriting history

As though the sculptors who made them

Were historians

And not some commissioned artist

Doing what he was told

Sell me something more than snake oil and lies

It is a form of history

Cast in the wealthy viewpoint

From the stance of the privileged

It’s...

Read and leave comments (6)