I never said you weren’t an angel,
He whispered from my ear piece,
The last human voice
Stirring up the gray shadows
And slumped silhouettes
Of our San Francisco apartment.
I approach a three-hundred-year-old
Hurricane
Larger than the earth.
It feels like home.
A storm in a red lake
Masterpiece
Brushed wet-in-wet
With detail.
My angry world raises its head.
I eat my freeze dried
Good luck black-eyed peas.
Orange gingerbread squares
And suicide pill.
Another mystery to give his poetry.
New teeth.