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prophets
February 3, 2015
sprinkling indigo dust upon our innocent heads
wings of concrete, hearts of marble
twisting up and above the city's sharply turning walks and desolate alleys
oh, my dear, i cannot let myself come back.
you have gotten so, so sick.
but it is you who decides the fate of the earth.
my beauty, my darling boy, the last time i f***ed you we both wept.
the dirty dirty world has claimed you for its sacrifice
you already feel the darkening blots constricting your spirit.
pestilence. ache. delusion.
yet still, you press on with your steady, gunpowder eyes,
into the angel's fiery heart.
© Ariel L., New York, NY
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inspired by Tony Kushner's award-winning play, Angels in America
dedicated to all those who perished in the AIDS epidemic, and to all who still struggle with the disease