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?