Angels Waiting In A Bar At The End of A Lonely World~

There’s a bar

in Barcelone

made of pyrite 

and prayers god forgot  to answer

layered in the old foundation

and walls;

sometimes the bar shimmers

and hops a ley line in the bent arm of mother earth

pounding for the last vein

and ends up else wheres

 

This week it insinuated its architecture

over a dance club at the Jersey shore

and o dear, can you see the sharks at the shoreline

lined up

the smell of blood in the air

their tattoos liquid under the sweat

and the pant pant, grunt

shifts the feathers from an angel’s wing

into the treasure of her spine

 

There’s another angel at the bar

disdain in her shot glass

her reflection in smudges

the crawling  boys beneath the dark web of her lashes

“forty lashes!”

and that would be Gabriel

the most bitter of them all

spurs in wicked quick silver

bullet eyes

boys with big egos left in oily stains

in the dust of his foot steps

 

Girl angel in blue

sings Peruvian blues

splinters in her puzzled night

dying is nothing new

“another!”

that would be Michael

elbow deep in his own tragedy

doing

shots

shots

shots

while LMFAO

pounds its incessant drunken joy

from a jukebox

 

What do angels do

without a god?

Well, like us, they make up their own rules.

 

There’s a bold girl

with bold hair

piled high

in laughter;

anything goes

goes the last call

for alcohol

welcome!

a whole lot of dying is about to begin

 

Angel blue

sings sea shore blues

at a quiet bar where drinks pour themselves

and the shots sound like trumpets

and the scrolls are burned

unopened

night

after night

in a bar

at the end of a lonely world

god forgot

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS REERVED

 

graphic photos copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Reese38]

I was thinking along the same lines as Lily, while reading your substantial writing. How you wrap the center of mankind's longing up in modern mythology and deliver it with shots that also hold cubes of irony, is genius.


Angel blue

sings sea shore blues

at a quiet bar where drinks pour themselves

and the shots sound like trumpets

and the scrolls are burned

unopened

night

after night

in a bar

at the end of a lonely world

god forgot


A powerhouse of a poem!

[alan peter kelly]

ah...the insinuation of architecture...you make exotic a scene i imagine ive seen uncountable times through red eyes and godless disdain...

[LilyT]

What do angels do

without a god?

Well, like us, they make up their own rules.


With this, your javeline aims true and with accurate precision. The agony of the lonely human, always searching, always searching outside of herself, for answers to the why and how and what. What is it like living inside of you, where you know without doubt that there are no absolute answers to anything. Your sorceress comes through with wild lessons that tear at the very existence of us. But, as you always say, to rebuild, the foundation first has to be completely broken down.

[Ed Hart]

there's a bold gold girl rapped in words that tell, cast a spell, soul that fell, and i, returned to battle, straddle my old saddle, lanceful pranceful, would smite with all my knight might, the boy toys with dusty feet, the girl to meet greet...sweet

[Kerry O'Connor]

I love the whole set-up of this poem - the scenario you have created with meticulous care, and the angels... lost, purposeless, imbibing the spirit of the world as their feathers drop one by one.

Loved it.

[Aidz]

A shot of Tequila is in order my dear, as I fight the angels for my piece of the action

Kewl as always and twisted into the sublime realms of true poet

:)