Friday, April 29, 2011
A magician pulls an angel
out of his hat by its ears.
It rises to the roof of his life, cursing:
I come to you
limbs tucked in
with misdirected prayers.
I messenger them anyway,
while you perform
with your chameleon silks
and bottomless bottles,
that trick with smoke and mirrors.
When you feint death,
your assistant sawed in half with worry,
that’s the time you feel me near.
And when I vanish like an old gold coin,
(your dirty angel)
I can see you almost believe in me.