n o w   s e t   m y   w i n g s

 

The line  I have travelled through a vault of stars now set my wings upon this table   

was rolling around the darkness of her hangover

like a stained shirt as she slept  Some weary cosmic 

angel reaching the tabletops of Wetherspoons or Ithaca 

and slumping into a chair  She wanted to believe something

else something about what this angel loved

or the apotheosis of some experience heaped 

like powder on the tip of a key   Instead she lifts 

the elastic of the angel’s pants  Feels the smooth

plastic absence of anything   Tastes the holographic 

wurr of its teeth   Slow down a blackbird and it sounds

like a jungle   Speed up a universe and it sounds like the clink 

of a spoon in a glass  I have travelled through a vault of stars now set my wings upon this table