TSM 119

another day sniffing the armpits of angels
humidity rank with birdsweat
their spent avian fuel
the air close with burnt feathers
heat shields that gave out
on re-entry
now God hacking up
hairballs of spark plugs
and broken wings
all the Gabriel-class hawks
gone to ground even
the sparrows hallow-eyed

The Sunday Muse

29 thoughts on “TSM 119

  1. A lot of sensory input in this, smelling, burning, breaking…I think the first line is a great hook, and each short stanza’s particular carnage seems vivid, distasteful, and …I suppose ominous is the best word. I am not much of a believer in angels, but these useless ones seem just right for our current times to me. Flying may seem like the ultimate refuge, but its perils just may outnumber its positives when the sky is on fire. Very original writing, qbit. ~hedgewitch

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You got me from that first line. I can’t quite get this poem out of my head. I will be looking for feathers and angels who need deodorant.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.