The death angel

there were twenty million planets with twenty million humans
all longing for the chance to sing the same song: a beatle's tune
featuring cosmic lyrics.
The big little notes with small, giant blue messages all
vibrating head . . . sending the emotions under bandage pulsating. It is not pleasant to sit and to
feel one's brain rise in form and texture . . . it is easier to duck in caves or huts or lay beneath band
aids or just turtle down within hard shells knowing all the time individuals don't matter for the
cube shall always function without you moving a muscle, mind and all your back trouble, eyebrow
tick-tocking twitching, feeling hits like a pancake, wooden walls that are closing in on all three
sides simultaneously, angularly, geometrically--
shapes and figures sending psychological distorted patterns bending in time and space motion
towards a spinning torched galaxy--
in the cranial skull and universe via the cosmic portal
in the skin and holes from the ground or black wholes

no . . . of course the cycle of trash and whispering must never conclude itself and the endless
stream for the search for joy must cascade into the dark abyss . . .
Steaming towards . . . the long awaited warrior of the heavens
of the red mountain of white peeks of beauty and then
she will step upon this everlasting flower of humanity and
soul or soil
delivering the beam of hope of the flashing yellow toothed devil on the burning cross for our
delicate consumption then as smoothly as she arrived shall extend her flowing, ascending
appendage
those glorious golden wings and leave earth forever once again

then we shall crawl from huts and shells into the bright sun above our heads
looking for the signal to breathe the air again, looking for the sign
to stand and reach toward our brothers' and sisters' arms
the signal for it to be all right to gather our sisters' and brothers' hands . . .
Raising them towards the soaring angel