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The Angel

by Donnie Hollingsworth

The angel
my hidden twin twists
rhythm beside me
spreading out its wings
of rotten eyes
dead sticks
hanging from a nerve

I’m hanging from my opened mouth
lifting myself
into my failing words
my breath: short staying stuck
in my chest

My nightmare is sticking in my throat
the whole earth feels like my suicide
(I won’t talk it all the way open
my opened mouth is a greenish-black)
as if I’ve already performed it

(I took time
to smell the roses
time has taken me out of the roses)
and I’m standing here
trying to act sane to conduct myself
my empty orchestra sputtering
my face dipping into the ground
for this suicide march
to have never dipped my face into time!

Ripping my soul out through one long exhale
I don’t know if I’m looking out or in
and the window with broken blinds
looks like a mouth with missing teeth
learn to accept loss

I hold my hands behind my back
blood puddles between
I left and returned, my hands are still
floorboard cracks until it punches past
my name: flag of nothingness
wrapped around a mirror

And you?
You’re liquid pooling
into my opened mouth
crop-circles inside of cemeteries
pounding across my chest
are you listening to me
as I put on your suited skin?

Your skin flaps in the yellow wind
a day after Valentine’s
I saw a deflated heart balloon on a limb
you screamed red glitter
flapping in the light
of sparkling corpses of deflated balloons
all bodies float at first due to the organs inflating
like the mouths inside of our heads grow fingers
and my heart goes into stereo mode
blood buzzing like bees
rendering the bowels of the street open to decay

My life languishes through belched smoke
Moebius strip of my veins
balanced on the edges of my body
I’m listening like a ruddy owl
to the same masks chewing into expressions
tilling over the edges of my teeth
willowy light returning angel
bone to flesh-green

This Midwestern town is watching me sleep
like moss staring through my spine
right through to the rotting willow
sprawling beneath the sun
my pockets are full of petals
rendering the bowels of the street open to decay
life languishes through my belched smoke

I see all you flies buzzing
in the air performing figure-eights
(infinity symbols)
you will soon be corpses on the windowsill
(romance with ominous undertones)
rote understanding of prayer
from biology
your bare limbs
out the window
licking the windowpanes
your perfume swaying in the cold
sacred text that spreads behind the clouded sky

You’ve teased me
turned me by
my neck
as you’ve poised me on the tips of clouds
buried words in the air
on my stained lips
letters on my tongue
sliding back in
mire down
mire down

Copyright © 2016 by Donnie Hollingsworth

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