The Angels and Their Plastic Wings
Bumping Into Glass As They Aim for
the Sun.
1.
Mosquitos flying
into computer monitors
trying to touch
the light of the sun.
The sun is long dead.
All that lingers
is a desperate
pixelated substitute.
2.
Born with one instinct
to guide them: fly
towards the light.
An act of supreme faith:
follow the instructions
that God gave you
and every one
of your ancestors.
3.
The struggle to connect;
the desperate movements;
our hopes pinned
on some abstracted light
that scatters into dots
incapable of grasping.
4.
Annoying fucking bugs
on the monitor
as I type
a lesser man
would grab a napkin
and do some exterminating
never minding how similar
our desperation is.
It's inevitably what happens,
anyway.
-e.
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