Epistles from the Guild of Lost Angels
       

Degenerates sleep alone in cars, but we,
we, with gods,                    with stars,
with our wishes, with the fishes.

Thus Earth became                   
a home I could not return from.
Doomed to the cold blue light,

who here can hear the sad plants dying,
but me? Dancing                            to the entirety
of Reggata
de blanc in this

solitary parlor, I laugh with the drunks,
Be clever about your sins, for one just might

erase a name! And nothing is virginal
to a mind behind a set
of whiskey eyes. These sad, sad beings for whom
            the day brings little.            Bad Things
Thrown out of Paradise, I like
to call them, and when homesick and lonely,

I let one breath upon my neck
& whisper,
My Dear, I would love you on the sand,
beneath the pelicans and the wooden moon,

until his heart breaks open,

a bag of flowers
strewn along the freeway.

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Copyright © 2012 Cody Todd All rights reserved
from The Literary Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission