Shadows & Dust [poetry]

Copper and Salt - a Prose Poem

My angels have known dark places. Velvet crush bruises under their eyes. Flash of bone on steel. Wings tattered or else boot-black.

Their fingers come to pricking points-- nails like talons. They are warriors. Wounded, battle-scarred, malnourished. I don't always offer them the praise they deserve.

They like tall glasses of milk skimmed so thin it's almost blue. Good for the bones and teeth. A mouthful of deadly daggers.

Strained and empty. Bare feet marbled with sapphire veins, soles cold as damp clay.

Aerodynamic skeletons, reed-hollow like a bird's, full of air and heaven. Eyes brimming with stars that fall like snow. Lips cracked and blooded from upper-cuts to the bone box during brawls with their fouler brethren, or with me.

I don't make it easy. I fight, corrupt, tease, cajole, joke, splinter, and crack.

My angels breathe blue fire and swallow Frost Brand swords.

Like John Constantine, they can go to hell whenever they want. In fact, we call that Tuesday. Another day, another heartbreak, a longer silence.

The loss of Him like a canker in my mouth. I can't stop picking at it, nibbling and poking, tasting it. Copper and salt.