Angel Verse

I feel uneven,

Like the water sodden windowsills in my childhood home--

The floors have been warped by piss-fed mold.

I can neither walk nor speak properly.

My stories fall on the blank eyes of angels.

 They have tight-lipped smiles and crooked hands.

You’ve been as quiet as moss on my doorstep,

Your velveteen eyes are dry and matte.

I’ve only been given physical comfort.

A heavy wing is what misled Icarus,

Whose father understood those falling cries.

Did he look like you?

If anything, I say is comprehended,

I need confirmation as blind as the sun.

I need the moss peeled off my bones.

I need my doorway straightened.

Silent stares are not peace.

Be open to me with human words,

A human face,

and many minuscule teeth.

Open your beak and mouth to tell me,

Will this ever get any better?