And then I want to read a couple from this book
called These Days of Candy from the mighty, mighty Noemi Press.
Much love.
And this one is also about the mischievous angels.
It's called Quake.
"The angel of Marlboro Smoke Road
emerged from its coral reef like a small ornate necktie.
My neighbor insists, these hooligans
might very well be members of a 21st century cavalry fixed
on intergalactic expansion.
The angels are giggling and odorous.
So beautiful, they reek of mead.
José's front door was strongarmed
by a rambunctious mob of rollerblading
angels insistent upon skating unhindered through his living
room.
You hear them laughing at 3:00 in the morning,
threatening cyanide pills stamped with hairy insignias
in your morning coffee.
The angels have stolen every light bulb in her room.
And now, she is without light.
My heart sank when I discovered angels were filled with helium.
Shattered, I shoot away the moon with a tabloid
and submerge myself neck deep in its milky lacrimation.
The angels have painted their flowered faces obsidian
while a telluric hunger flashes beneath their tongues.
A tobacco tooth angel scraped its bloody gums
with a razor blade, and there is an infinite rainforest
embroidered on its cape encircled by a microscopic neon
peephole.
The angels flour footed all over my favorite kitchen mural.
34,000 angels wheelbarrowed inflation
to the marketplace of their duties.
When I grow weary, I can no longer
resist the temptation to count the missing plates emptied
from my cupboards all because of some drunken angel's
fondness for Frisbee.
In bed, broken verses bleed over my bare feet
like the head of a decapitated carousel horse planted
by 2-bit cinema gangsters.
Pretending to sleep, I relish the news
of a new rising lord intent on withdrawing its troops."