Angels of the Prosaic

Buddhist Temple's Bird Cage, 1940 Gelatin silver printKansuke Yamamoto

My heart whittles away all intermediary

None who enter shall ever replicate her song

In the absence of data there is always instinct

That I exist is the only catalyst essential to expression

*

I dream of brush-fires and lightening

Of incidentals and incendiaries

I am intolerant of dysfunction

When it overtakes my composition

To be an alien in the the desert

Is exceptional only in the clarity

Of a well-articulated obligation

Better to be the only Venusian

In a fountain of supple dreams

*

All these delusions

These unsolicited truths

Shed on gestation

They are mine to gather

Who else exists that can

Define precisely their shape?

*

I exist in the minutiae

In the dalliances

Of stones and silhouettes

The muse’s pock-marked face

Composed in odyssey

I am not afraid of demons

Only of men who speak falsely

*

Were I without hope

I’d cease scavenging

Were I without gratitude

My pen would halt

Its recursive sonnet

*

I am an optimist canvassing

Hell for a paradise lost

A misfit who sees angels

In the veils of the prosaic

*

My non appointment appointment took an unexpectedly long time. Though there was a scheduling error and they sent me home as soon as I arrived I spent a weird amount of time trying to get home again. I didn’t have much time to write and I now have the pressure of knowing the appointment isn’t even over yet!

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21 responses to “Angels of the Prosaic

  1. love the last verse.! 🙂

    in the veils of the prosaic live angels who are of human nature but whose hearts and wings are loaded with golden protection…for us…or we’d perish from disconsolation.

    was sorry to hear ur aptmt didnt happen. It might be providential …and you can find solutions within self..like finding keys that are hiding but you didnt look in the right place…the first time. 🙂

  2. As usual your image takes me away and your words are stunning…the last stanza hits me most…maybe because I could never get through Paradise Lost…it scared me too much…

  3. Brilliant poem, the power is overwhelming. My favourite parts were the last 4 lines and this:”I exist in the minutiae

    In the dalliances

    Of stones and silhouettes

    The muse’s pock-marked face

    Composed in odyssey

    I am not afraid of demons

    Only of men who speak falsely”

  4. “In a fountain of supple dreams”

    “I exist in the minutiae
    In the dalliances
    Of stones and silhouettes”

    I’ve missed reading your poetry. Wonderful 🙂

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