Sunday, March 4, 2018

Angels in Another Universe

may be the best reading of a poem I've ever done. Which is to say, I had a helluva lot of fun doing it.

Like yours, we angels fly by wing.
Publicly we can’t align
with the malign,
but our benignity will sting.
Our society apparently
can’t fathom to forgo
the status quo
of an habitual morality
but will begin to savor sin
when certain souls
achieve their goals
without intent to cut us in.
We’ll have nothing left to do
with such unwelcome company.
Their tedious ennui
will not improve our point-of-view.
Now the prey of mindless cogs in
wheels ensuring,
while procuring
them like smelly squealing hogs in
bins, they will be hauled, the crowd
of them, to dump in earnest
in a furnace:
to burn alive while crying loud
for a redemption or salvation.
Their hopes can’t but abort.
Their time is short.
They came here, keen for a vacation.
We obliged. They were vacated
in one terrible collective yelp.
We weren’t merely glad to help.
We were elated.

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