The Angels, They’re Falling

sometimes
I wander the streets at night
protected by cigarette smoke
and the sky is purple grey
and there’s
orange rain
seeping down and
going splat
against the pavement
as if it were almost
alive
before it hit.

the eyes shift rapidly

to and fro
all the eyes
the man selling coffee in metal pots
the lady with two kids and a baby
and almost no teeth
on the side of the road
panhandling miserably
the cats and dogs on leashes
the rats scampering down the sidewalk
in search of
rotten meat
the bums
soaked to the bone

The Angels, They’re Falling

sifting through trash cans
and
smiling through bloody gums
all the eyes
shifting
swerving
as if they didn’t see
this orange water death
this mass suicide
of clementine angels
jumping from the violet rafters
of their homes.

sometimes
I catch a few droplets
with my hummingbird hands
and put them in the
open hole
in my
chest
and they cry to be let out
loud enough to be heard
and the eyes
the shifting eyes
all train themselves on
me
but I cover my chest with my coat
and I don’t let them out.

I take them home
and put them on my shelf
where they crystalize into
cloud tears
their faces frozen
with fear
and they all whisper
as loud as a whirlwind
to be let out
and their crystalized voices
sound like a flock of
suicide starlings
breaking vases
and choking on the shards
but I close my eyes
and cover my ears
and I don’t let them out
because they’ll just jump
again.