by Matthew Kosinski

Created on: May 28, 2008

I broke my head upon the stars,
I dashed my foot against a stone,
so where are my god damned angels?
I could have sworn the good book said
I'd be given eagle's wings
in case of such a thing.

Well, I should have known
better than to trust
such an archaic source,
when even the people
in front of me now
spout dirty, pretty lies
from their dirty, pretty mouths.

It's hot in the dark.

Flashing lights cast halos
on unsuspecting heads
and she's drinking again,
fifteenth night in a row.
I don't remember her face
when it's sober.
A sip of vodka,
a shot of rum.
Through the speakers
Alice tells me,
"It is written. Angels die with you."
I run outside for a cigarette and
hear her laugh each time I exhale.

A long walk home
and my blood is not my own.
Every motion is perfectly dramatic,
every thought that flutters through my
head emerges from my mouth
as a gray butterfly.
I sever my legs from
my torso
and watch octopus tentacles take their place
as I crawl now,
no longer standing,
no longer human,
towards the sea
where the lights
from the shoreline bars
all crystallize and form
fragile gems that waver in the wind.

From a perch on a cliff,
I watch the
ocean's salty tongue
lick its stone teeth.
It's so starving.
We're all so starving.

Give drink to the thirsty;
Clothe the naked;
Shelter the homeless;
Visit the sick;
Visit those in prison;
Bury the dead;
and always feed the hungry.

I'm a good Christian boy,
I do what I'm told.
I put my last camel out on
my wrist.
Tell them to cut here when they find me.
Tell Anna that I'll miss her,
and maybe she'll put down her glass
for once.

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