They come. From under the midnight cloud,
the rainsoaked shadow-edged trees.
They come naked but for cloaks of red,
mouths black-lipped, dismissively smiling.
They take your tears and thread them
on a thin silver skein of memory,
hang it between their raspberry budded nipples.
They come to pick stars from 3am and crush them
up in silver foldings, discarded into the dawn,
littering the road.
They take faint hope and dip in black nothing,
soaked with dulled laughter, pointless. A joke not funny.
They kiss your wrists and red petals fall and splash
They kiss your lips and sleep is swallowed in gulps of darkness
They kiss your eyes and you plunge into cleansing depth
If you wish it.
The dark angels stand about you, eyes undone with need,
the sounds of the subway making each encouraging smile
more loving, their lips urging you to join them.
Waiting at the tunnel's end
to embrace the emptiness
that the train invites you to inhabit
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