THE ANGEL AND THE FIRE
for Erik Odijk
A disremoving angel, helplessly
himself, like love that’s unafraid to be
afraid, would burn us for a century
at every blink, for beauty’s crushingly
so frail, though us it’s able to define
as something nothing. Our life is a hell
of utter shallowness, where if the bell
should ring, emotion’s shown as at a sign.
The multi-tasking rush-hour beast with slick
conclusions, thumbs all swollen douses fire.
All that’s of value, he finds slow and eerie.
The fire that flares in semi-colons, quick
to bridge abysses, is a pacifier.
The angel is no answer but a query.
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