He knows not, his own affordances

He only knows, his own wildfire

And it won’t be tamed

A beautiful angel was about to be shot

in the stomach

 

He scripted the words in his mind

Again and again, over and over

In the middle of the night, for the last 6 months

endless edits of what he knew he had say

but how would those words feel embodied?

Out of mouth, into air,

into the angel’s ears?

 

He knows not, his ownabilities

He only knows, his own paranoia 

And it won’t be named

A beautiful angel was about to be shot

in the head

 

He scripted the sentences in tandem with senses

How would they touch, they see, they hear, they taste?

But he knew he had to do it,

tear the wings off, rip the halo,

Treat him no more

as his romantic commandant

But as

Stranger

Remove the s, the t, the r

and you get anger

But by now, he was happy for the angel

to disappear into the nine billion

And they never see each other again

 

‘You fucking selfish bastard!’, he keeps telling himself

‘Shoot an angel who has been by my side for the past 15 years, nearly a third of my 46’

But the angel has only seen a glimpse of his vagaries, and knows not how he cries himself to sleep most nights

The angel was once his hot air balloon

And now he is his lifejacket at sea,

made of lead

 

For when the angel kisses him with loving intent,

He, the handsome blue eyed prince turns frog,

His wildfire nearly extinguished

There’s only so long one

can learn to control their soul’s desire for freedom

Sometimes, it’s okay to shoot an angel

When you are but a murmur, an echo,

a hollow carcass, a stain of who you used to be

He, angel assassin but with good cause

 

He knows not, his own resplendences

He only knows, his own addiction 

And it won’t be blamed

A beautiful angel was about to be shot

in the heart

 

He scripted the moments leading up to the shooting

All day and all night, for the past 6 months

endless variations of how that moment would play itself out

but how would the shooting feel embodied?

Out of mouth, into angel’s stomach, head and heart?

 

The angel rests their wings beside him

He has the script well rehearsed

He shoots and awaits the creation

 

Gustav Metzger once said,

‘Destroy, and you create’

 

The angel, though destroyed,

stretches out their wings and flies away

And he,

begins creating the affordances

of his new life

 

Destroy, and you create

Destroy, and you create.