mostly he just carries a halo of spicy afterscent
an indifferent angel who looks at you from a pinhead
hair curling like threads of a burned paper scroll
a seraphim who brushes off your dignity with
quick hands and a straight face. with eyes like
everclear seen through a peridot lens, he raises
sweatless arms to clear himself of any blame.
he swallows the sky politely and blesses himself,
while the choir just sings on and on.