If ever I should reach the rank
of angel
no halo please, or
golden wings.
Right now I'm putting in my order
for wings of red
like the redwinged gal
in the corner of the 'word window'
at Trinity church
her wings a match
to the red devil
in the corner opposite,
two sides of energy
polarity personified.
The white gown will do
there's always bleach
should things get messy
but no golden wings,
too precious, too remote.
I prefer the vigor of red
sweeping through the story
in the thick of it
riding the pendulum
from the right extreme
all the way to the left
finding stasis
in the center.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem