Angles Loop

Certain hours aren’t actually time at all
“You see that old wristwatch there on the floor?”
Of course, there’s literally nothing whatsoever there

Minutes bleed out in cartoon splendor
The kind once painted by adoring human hands

Say there’s a word that no one says
They all know it;
it’s the purified altruist of all unstatements
You and I could baby up, you know?
Bat children. Isotope kids.
Parenthetic parents

I gave him (you have to see this inside your mind)
a tiny vial that held a sliver of pure light
If you shake it, pages fill themselves with dreams
So often alone, yet always together
There isn’t any way out turns out to be the way out

A thousand of them die every hour, dead for centuries
Inside the arcs of unseen rainbows. The light naturally collapses
Into insect wings and sandpipers, invisible organs
“You’re not supposed to see them, I’m telling you”
Now, it’s years too late. The blade fell on ice

Forging shattered bells.
Petals fluttering in the desert wind
Not for reasons there aren’t any facts that aren’t invented

“Do you see the gentle curves of her fingers?”
I was silent because a falcon struck me inside my head
But I wanted to see them. I always hoped to see them

Inside any wheel there’s a sprialized priest
Who’s still an infant in the oldest womb
I blow on the candle, and a fire arises
And if I light it then…
the angles turn to angels.