i’ve been having dreams of clouds and angels but in the visions the angels are grotesque explosive different than what tenet of organized religion has shown me they live everywhere in the liquor store the launder mat my potted plant Aunt Ruth’s Chihuahua they are meaty beings with fluffy hands some even smoke cigars my favorite is a Mae West look a like her name is Hortance she has foul language she does with a cockney accent too i’ve been having dreams of me falling through clouds and the angels fall with me i’m screaming my head off but stop mid air every once in a while to check my watch the guardian angels assigned to me smoke way too much pot they’re always late to pick me up when i’ve fallen through Dante’s layers the other day i did ask Fidel if the rumors about him and Che were true but Che floated in with three stiff mojitos we all just quieted down some things are better left to the dead my friend i’ve been having dreams of clouds and angels they hide in the fox holes of the sky boot camp for the war of good and evil amongst men i’ve bruised the tenets a little sorry Ma some things are just so boring some things are just for me to grapple and doesn’t Yahweh forgive our stuff anyway
words less spoken 