THE ANGELS TOO

I qualify the metric of your stare,

exaltation steeped in appeal,

addictive approval,

appropriated by the suspension,

of undeniable conception.

Wandering in the mechanization of whims,

that reflects privilege and the undertaking of means.

Knowing life is an ending, is a ground not for absurdity,

but a convenience of the atomization of pantheons of the historic.

In the catacombs of memory,

the mnemonic of your smile,

draws me beyond the parochial, upstaging presence,

into the metacosmos of your surfeit survival,

drawing out the demons,

on this patch of time.

In the fleeting trajectory,

of this spec of dust,

this earthly cessation,

accumulated in the whirlwind.

Pure mechanism,

causing galaxy to sing,

in expressions of divination,

formed of the galvanization of enpuzzlement,

drawing out the angels too.

Image © 1993 Poem © 2016 by Peter Kaleb Theodoropoulos aka Rockwell Wilder.