Decay of the Angel

Will Schmitz


Over the Alps in winter
What a mad boy you are mad star
Of mad pursuits
And if you had not found
That Monastery in the snow

What then?

I see you keeping yr.
Personal account books.
It is already much later and death no longer sleeps with you.

In your sleep you only direct a Symphony of workers who chip Away the rock. The swirling Explosions are also gone.

The aftermath of you is an insanity
Which mimics self-satisfaction and Peace. A Conscious unconsciousness That covets itself mining rock in Tedium's no pleasure gardens.

I can Stop here. The figure that I Loved has changed its place and I Must travel backwards in time to Find Him I desire.


Illustration © Jessica Stoker