~`~`~`~`~

More and more feathers
for the dirty archangels who don't
make it in

Shovel the doorway clean
to the bombed museum

At the edges of the harbor on fire
more and more will flock

The city is nerves ablaze pulled upright
by the winged whispering

Hind paws on the rocks in heaven's dugout
they chew and spit hot pepper
and tobacco, the instant healing
of their tongues

Who looked upon the daughters of

~`~`~`~`~