The posings of a poet.

Dark ANgels

The standard uncomplicated conversation is a tattooed constellation on the left side of tomorrow
The dareless dreams of day are meditations on the gray that lingers between the patches of fog we borrow
The night holds light as bright as tygers in the mind

The repetitious regurgitation of fact or fiction breaks with concentration in the factories of faith and thought
The settled servile sentence called happiness or repentance is a calculated indecision cheaply bought
The dark covers much but reveals in kind

The dimmed delight of dessicated day is night and brings relief and room to breathe and stretch our wings
The fear felt for few is flight to me and you and fumbling fun in close quarters and other things
The moon smiles upon the mark we leave behind


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