Angel Wings, Amusement Park Mouth
"Angel Wings, Amusement Park Mouth"
Dark horses
aren’t necessarily angels
wrung out poets more like
unblessed prodigals
soaking in their own tears
spin sugared fairy-floss unrelentingly out
their dark sap, "Lost Woods" words,
and the ink no longer necessary
bleeds invisible
from their tap-dancing fingers
instead of dripping like blood
or honey off their
well-armoured tongues
and their messages
like murders of crows
fly out of their amusement park
mind instead of their mouth;
it's a private affair,
nobody really knows;
we sing our way home
on some bent kind of angel wings;
Dark horses
aren't necessarily angels -
the mind, authentic
is another thing...
Candide Diderot. ‘24
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