No to Angel
I started to dream awake
It was beautiful—as I
began
to chant an old poem
on the edge
of dream
Or would you
Come off the
chair sir. Ask the chairman
to come off . . .
You have gone past your
dead lover's marker.
He'll
stay same
who's sane (same old
joke—
ancient Baghdadian pa) . . .
have never
trusted angels.
I found one of her white
cylindrical hairs
dyed black
to us is given a drop of
your live beauty, to
feed us, who are the poetry.
the word 'treason' takes
credit for achieving us.
We have betrayed all your
religions
in order to
be alive, after our deaths, in
this space
it is lace counter to scheme.
The first thing, in theEveryone busy with dead
hands/ voices/ senses
Dead sense swells.
Whatever you want that
isn't a thing,
you can have.
Clustering moments,
But you know when a
moment
is
Seeing it through.
Alice Notley
Songs and Stories of the Ghouls
Wesleyan University Press
Copyright © 2011 by Alice Notley
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission