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angels

God’s Particles

God’s Particles

 

What if they can dance

On the head of a pin

Would you

I’d like to think I might

 

What if they are atomic, subatomic

Then they could dance with partners of

Orbiting electrons

The matter, light and dark, of the universe theirs

While the music set by God

Plays on

It’s blood circulation to us

Its own miracle

 

For them, it is the reason

They were made

Missives in themselves

Stepping to the rhythm of divine

 

Will, submitting without thought

To a plan they can announce

With or without understanding

(their will is not involved)

Until all things are known,

And love will have the reason

That

In this moment doesn’t bear

In their slightest

Instep action

 

They dance, what kind of substance

And while they dance

The universe is delight

 

C L Couch

 

 

drew Roberts

4096 Naked Ghosts Mash de Roach on the Head of a Pin

https://www.flickr.com/photos/126739923@N05/14674933788

Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0)

 

Victimhood

Victimhood

(a reverie, a study)

 

Evil is too easy

Is it really?

Maybe on the inside

A quick turn, then stay

In that direction

Me, first

You don’t exist

Everything is fodder

For possession

And control

The very stuff of the universe

Should be mine

 

And then it’s gone

I have nothing

There’s a lesson in legacy

The tyrant is forgotten

Except for notes that tell the truth

And finally

The evil ones are burned

Like autumn leaves in the backyard

(how it used to be)

Effigy and memory

 

And was this easy?

Yes, and lazy, too

Everything subverted to

A contract with the luck of the devil

A genie who grants wishes and

Scratch-like

Always laughs the last

Because the house of hell always wins

Once entered by

The gullible who think

That profit is a plot

Hard work is another matter for

Good people

The suckers, so I always thought

The despot

And now I am ash

Blown off the foot in the tread

Of someone righteous

Whose agencies are angels

A surrogacy of judgment

 

My victims

Lazarus

Living in a better house, the house of God forever

While I diminish

To a speck

And then am nothing

No matter left

Nothing

 

C L Couch

 

 

Christopher Michel

Ramesseum in Egypt

 

Philemon’s Pitcher

Philemon’s Pitcher

 

I wished for more

I prayed for miracle

A job, a home

Companions

A car to get me there and

Back again

For clothes that set and

Looked good

Well, good enough

Food that might hold me

And I might enjoy

 

And what happened

With these petitions I don’t

Know,

But I think when at I’m the gate or

Once inside

I might be told:

 

Did you not notice the extra

Potato in the bag

The extra gasoline already in the tank

The fifteen minutes more

Than should not have been available

The one who held the door and

Was never seen again?

 

The miracles of stories must be large,

I guess

Miracles as molecules

Go uncounted

Unconsidered

And those in between

Not for the book but nonetheless

The provenance of angels who

Entertained us unaware

 

C L Couch

 

 

http://www.icollector.com/ancient-greek-wine-jug-300BC-2280081_i8229518

ancient pitcher

 

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