Posted by kid_A on March 30, 2002, at 22:01:57
THE WAR OF ANGELS
AND DAEMONS
the daemons are
amassed, red, black
skin-- smooth like the
Christo-Reichstagdark wings that rape
the strangled flowers
in their shadows, crawling
to the sun like beggarsfingers like grub worms
clutching spinning swords
as howitzerscreeping upon you like
midnight, covering your
body in soot, swallowing
you whole like lionseyes like pyres, black
and dark as sharks, burning
the death rejoice-- ropes
of misfortunetheir eyes bloom orchids
they are a hearth of
burning flowers, a kiss
in every petalthey walk as you walk
they pantomime your steps
as scarecrows stuffed
with strawthey belong to you as
sure as the thumbs that
shut your eyelids inside
the requiemcall to them, legion,
for they are many, walking
through the earth, and
up and down in ityour angels, clad in
their robes and nightgowns
sandaled feet and a
crown of daisiesa small army of stickmen
the wind blows through
their ribs like watertheir hands paper, naked
and cut as turkeys, eyes
empty upon the skywings made of cellophane,
barely lifting them
from their God, they
hover like falling
starsfaces like nazi plates
white and without
feature, plain as a
naked crosstheir eyes, coal,
though you might mistake
them for diamonds, as they
may be in time, in timesteady the combatants
stand in columns, the
clouds looking down like
judges, waiting for
rainand they rush! a clash
of armour and skin! the
blood of spectres that
is not bloodthe wings flapping like
newborn butterflies
their hands clutching
clawing, tearing apartthe fog of war shrouding
the toy soldiers like
a dress, a summer dress
as beautiful to be born inthe angels sing, they laugh
and dance around their foe
as it is their naturethe daemons wail, they cast
their dark upon the ground
like Mt. saint Helenwe claw at the air from
beneath the water, smothered
by the razors of armoured
handsfor a time the angles sing
triumphant, the stations of
the cross their storybut their song is a tease
it lingers for a while then
becomes a whisper, licking
the air like dogsand the horde overwhelms,
as the angels retreat, deep
into their psycheoh God, my God, build me
a ship of armour unlike any
other, let me fightbut God, in his wisdom laughs
and knows the fight is
already from youthe angels are smothered in
flowers, each of them tramped
updon by metal bootsand a riddle tells, it will
always be this wayyet some of you, in evil
congress of fist and flower
laugh an equinox of joy and
sorrow.
poster:kid_A
thread:21195
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20020325/msgs/21195.html