In the wake of angels
I lie in wait
My leopard pounces
Leaves me motionless
A mere detail of gloriousness
Head heavy with presence
Sounding of trains
Resounds in travel
Poor souls plotting suicide
Challenging death
Tons of metal
Crushing bones
Like wood blocks or
Sand between my toes.
The smell of cinnamon
Invites him in
Power from a bit of glass
To stranded pearls
Passionately wrapped
around.
Back on the tracks
Trains call out to me
I am available
Disregarding serious talk
Or drunk within
My own reflection.
I am learning to fly
Angelic
Archaic
I am learning to die
In my sleep