Grey Angel

In the woods lurks the grey angel; Wingless and disillusioned, he awaits The onset of diarrhoea, Bismarck’s jocular displeasure And the seagull’s lugubrious weightlessness – Later than previously, he erects A flag made of wormwood Brought all the way From the ceiling of an underground café in East Berlin - He sighs….and it is like someone playing A musical saw: it expresses harmoniously His perpendicular musical soul – Expecting nothing, he is perpetually disappointed By the visitations of crones desirous of petty miracles, Of repentant tax-gatherers requesting absolution, On New-Age moongazers seeking enlightenment, Of people who desire certainty, answers, Of people who pursue truth and self-righteousness, Of people who just want to see what an angel, Any angel looks like. Only these curious rubbernecks Touch his bland and ironic soul with a faint luminosity – Their enthusiasm for life, if crass and tawdry, At least provides the salt which otherwise Has lost its flavour….a pity That it just rubs salt into his wounds.