Do Angels Exist?

A Google Search a Week off Antipsychotics

Do angels exist? 

I once mistook one for a pigeon, the rhythm of their flight was the same. It had one bad leg & was dragging behind one of its wings. Nothing to do about that one, said my father, so we left it to aimlessly roam the city streets. This place is no place for an angel, I thought, but would anything have changed had I nursed you back to health? 

Do angels have gender?

Or do they, like me, rejoice in the playground of human concoctions? Saint Michael puts on a skirt before going out & twirls. Somewhere a young trans body is enveloped by the blessing of a summer breeze. Somewhere a young trans body finally gets to know what it means when people say grace. 

Do angels have free will?

A cherub blows cigarette smoke out all four of their mouths, prays the Father never finds out. Later that night, they will sneak out the window & lose their shoes in a punk show where they will mosh with one of the fallen. A seraph gets lost in the sheets of some moon-eyed man, his wings ruffled by the dance of human sin. He will tell no one, but will hold the memory of the man’s skin like a pot of gold.

Do angels have wings?

Do they use them to cover each other’s halos when it starts to rain? Do they share wings like children share blankets & wait for it all to end? Every leaf I’ve ever found on the ground has been proof of a miracle. Every piece of holiness is a rock I’ve kept hidden in my pocket. God is the size of an apple heart & weighs about 70 kilograms or as much as a feather, depending on who you ask.  

Do angels have souls?

& do they ache as ours do? Do they carry them like hearses everywhere they go? I always thought the soul was a burden until somebody held it in their hands. 

Do angels sit on your bed?

Or are they just the only light left by my window after the last star has gone out? The remaining spot of clarity under the oxidising night; a candle burning at both ends; an old friend calling, frantically saying pick it up, pick it up, pick it up. 

Do angels sing?

& if they do, do they take requests? I was thinking of some Chet Baker to start with, something slow & sweet to soothe the wandering soul. My funny valentine / sweet comic valentine / you make me smile with my heart. I hope Heaven is full of jazz, full of trumpets & sad voices, I hope a certain level of melancholy is allowed. The body needs some grief to survive.

Do angels sleep?

They must dream, at least.

Goodnight.