Saturday, 6 October 2018

Angel Heart


Angel Heart

Looking back from far flung and distant,
I suppose she came to me in a vision.
Me, drifting drunken, forging paths in indecision.
That night, a tawdry whole lot of nothing to do:
just endless trailers for hot toasted pop tarts,
feeling with tacky tongue the fits and starts,
sifting through promos of broken angel hearts.
A gummy evening stuffed full of little enough stirring,
when she appeared. I tended my flock
with my crook, and read her words with shock
then delight, raising an adequate semi salute.
It looked to me as if she was shaded by halos,
crayoned by rainbows,
veiled by half an afterglow,
scented by dusky musk,
bathed in secret trust.
But I wasn’t to know, really.
She bade me come,
by the pricking of thumb,
racing my pulse to the beat of her drum:
‘I have always thought you were quite cute,
when you see me revealed, aim but don’t shoot.’
No, don’t laugh.
These one-liners are shallow, it’s true:
but heavenly creatures have little else to do.
Yes, she promised me to never forget,
and that it wasn't only rain that made her wet,
bind her tight with silks and we’d be together yet.
After that, she was about as true as her words,
occasionally seen and often heard,
nonetheless, like all celestial things,
soon weary of earth.
Well now, if your pure white panties become sticky
from all the spells you’re casting;
promises of love everlasting,
then maybe you should wash them; wear none at all,
or at least not show them to other men when you call.
Still, then again, I’ve heard of those
who’ll sue you for the prick of a rose,
while teasing with the stripping of clothes.
So, look.
I actually don’t think she is to blame.
Fickle things, exposed to naked flame,
must always melt like candle wax,
 cavort and frolic from truth’s heat in shame,
capricious until heaven beckons back.
Looking again from far flung and distant,
I suppose she ascended to nonexistence;
took the path of least resistance:
spewing filthy language, callow and lewd,
broken promises, narrow and crude,
and table leavings of second-hand nudes.





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