Angels

 They have little use.
 They are best as objects of torment.

No government cares what you do with them.


Like birds, and yet so human .
 .
 .

They mate by briefly looking at the other.

Their eggs are like white jellybeans.


Sometimes they have been said to inspire a man
to do more with his life than he might have.

But what is there for a man to do with his life?

.
 .
 .
 They burn beautifully with a blue flame.


When they cry out it is like the screech of a tiny hinge; 
the cry of a bat.
 No one hears it .
 .
 .

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