Hallucinangels

God, it's hot now, but the rain will come and bring
angels, and they'll beat their new-blossomed wings on
my basement window. Haloed, sweet-faced moths to slip
silver dollars in my mail slot and pay my bills
I must have faith in the white clouds to cool
me down and bring me angels.
When I'm paralyzed tired I know they're floating near.
They're little pods of pollen unaware
that they must land to blossom.
They can't be watered in the air, but I can't
hurry their conception.
Seems blessings don't respond to desperation.
God, it's hot now, but the rain will come and bring
angels, and they'll beat their new-blossomed wings on
my basement window. Haloed, sweet-faced moths.

©1994 Agent Gracie Music (BMI) and McKinley


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