Deleting Angels

I dreamed of a fiery eyed angel, whose only job was to sing between thunderclaps and whisper sweet nothings into the heart of epiphany’s persuasion. But, she was bored. Her muse crippled by the slow thrumming of an adjacent and mewling savant. His harp sang beautifully, but also…redundantly and as the storm raised its pulse, it clattered against my eyelids. Their harmony baffled my slumber, and I rose, half awake …still entranced by the static of their disheveled ceremony. I wished that I could hear her speak more clearly, that the song wasn’t so jarring, to my rotting sensibility; that I could sleep to the sound of something less erratic than your three month old voice-mails; repeating broken goodbyes over and over, gestating in the bowels of my denial. I reached for the phone, and watched lightning strike, finally realizing I was awake; I deleted your voice from the the memory card in my chest and laid beneath an empty sky. There are no angels up there, not really. At least not when I’m awake. -James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.