Tuesday, March 15, 2016

BENT

Though poor in
a little bit 
more than just spirit,

Ashland Avenue's great old archangel
is never far

and hard-
ly deferential—

baggy and 
swerving, rash-
cheeked and
cane-

enabled, and with wisp-
white
quills that peel hard

from the corners
of his barbed 
temples alternately leaping

and genuflecting 
and
leaping 
and 
genuflecting—as he motors 

to catch- 
up and narrow crow 

eyes—at each 
dim passer-
by, rather 

covetously—over his extra-
large breast-
plate white chunk 

of conspicuous 
and cartoony prim 

crucifix—like it's some kind
of crosshair.

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