Sunday, March 8, 2009

How Angels Are Made

A man selling roses 
at a Mexican bar 
found no buyers
and slid down National
with his trunk full of flowers
as the rain pissed down
from Heaven
and the buses ran real late.

Stepping on a crack,
he remembered
what time it was two decades ago
and became an angel
as a punk from the North
barfed out a lowered Ford window
and drove off into the obscure wilderness
of the clogged West-Side highway.

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