I wish I had your
angel with me tonight.
Blue ridges turned black,
God knows I never
called her ‘Angel’ when
I had the chance to
But Angels are the
stuff of sobering up.
I’m trying my best
these days to do it
on my own terms,
but it’s hard to focus, sometimes,
without angels–or
whatever rattles
around your skull, as
daylight fades and your
neck muscles loosen,
your eyes corkscrewing.
It’s a different kind of sleep.
-Dead Man Mountain, VA. 2007
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