Giant in Skin

There’s this long line of darkness on the other side of day

I stand there listening to the starless sky flow like Styx

There’s that smooth dome of light pollution

Pulsing like an orange Creamsicle

Never sleeping, always dripping

Like childhood summer sun

And all above it, that starless sky

Humming in rhythm,

And a stone-cold moon pushed deep into the inky mallow

And the shore rises, swallows it for a moment, then a motor crunching the road

And I am loved, but alone

This upside-down man in an upside-down world being turned upside down and torn inside out

The guts sometimes, plucked out and stomped on

The thread that sews it back up wearing thin

This giant in a suit of skin too small

Roaring like the mad city

Then a bizarro boiling undone like a meadow

Under the dome

Simply walking with the crickets and that hand cast in sapphire

Some giant I am, in skin too small

The Swimming Window

And there were orange baptized bullets lodged in a wall of sea salt adobe and skull,

a hard skull of architecture burned and bandaged

the sun was far too bright as I dug them out with the tip of a knife

and I was suddenly cursing the violence of Southwest sweat and artificial love

and street corner Kool-Aid chillin’ like angels’ blood

the cherry, raspberry red brew that made a sore throat feel even more sore

when one is a rattled child on a planet with obscene purpose

and why do I do anything but idle and wail

if it just turns out to be nonsensical dreams anymore?

And now the late afternoon sun that pours through a front window in the house

is all stained with wandering soul and a life vanished

Everything is different due to the dead

There is mad swimming in Heaven

and I still wake up and I still buy bread

I walk over the land and pick up stones

they live in a pool of millions

yet straddle the whore world all alone

and the days are starting to feel like desert tin

hard, hot and shining

illuminating muscle

capsizing the eyes

spawning breathless, reckless wandering and wonder.

Gwenhwyfar

A rainbow is seen coming out of gray clouds over farmland in Wisconsin, north of Milwaukee. (Photo by A.A. Cinder)
A rainbow in Wisconsin from inside a moving car / A.A. Cinder

Some say they only fall, but I say they walk among us. She walks among me even now. She would never admit to being an angel – I don’t think she believes in them. I would call her a guardian of the heart, if nothing else. She’s taught me to cast out the enemy love once was and replace it with the real spirit of it. And like angels usually do, she came out of nowhere one night when I was alone. She fell from the sky like a derailed comet and exploded everything that was already blown to bits – and what I mean by everything is everything in a good way. I’ve often wondered if I died and she was just helping me along down Heaven or Hell Boulevard – she has carved a soulscape of wonder, my wonder, her wonder, our wonder, two wondering wanderers standing still and cracking until they run into each other, from out of the air just like that – there was Gwenhwyfar.

She came down from the sky on a glowing escalator and I waited for her in the parking lot. But sometimes I think she was maybe there all along, maybe my entire life and I just didn’t see her because they can be invisible. She looks human. She has all the right parts in the right places. A great ass. There is a glow about her though, like sun coming up out of her guts at times. I would call her a beautiful angel. What else could I call her? She helps me when I have problems with life. She’s a pretty decent angel.

I asked her about Jesus, and she said he was a pretty nice guy – just a bit upset about what we do in his name. Gwenhwyfar told me she was an angel of words – the one who corrected the language of the universe. She’s beautiful like that. I’m surprised she eats actual food because I didn’t think angels needed it. She makes me a lot of frozen pizzas because she doesn’t like to cook much. She’s afraid she’ll burn the tips of her wings on the stovetop and that’s not something easily fixed. She watches over me like they say they do – a love never wavering. She can make it not so bad of a day when I am in mental Hades, roasting and getting stabbed, mentally and emotionally. She lifts me up and out of the ashes and shows me the true meaning of love. She is love. She is real faith.

And when the duties of our earthly days are done, she sits with me in the lamplit room of red, and I hold her in the stillness, an episode of House Hunters humming in the distance. I hold her face and tilt her head to kiss her lips… And in that last taste of her before she sleeps, I am fed love, and bow to the mending of a broken heart.

Angel From the Sun

Happiness is the western road going east

Happiness is her burrowed in my heart in peace

The dawn of each new day

She is my angel from the sun

All the way running to the night

Where everything she is

Is cast wild across the stars

To land in the places we will go

In this world or that

End to end

Where the sea beckons a little rough

Across the rocks painted by some hysterical wand

Her portrait in Sonic Ocean Water blue

From one point of out there

To another point of here and now

She is everywhere and all over it

A stellar angel chick

Shocked me like socket sex

And then just as quickly

Pulling me into the trees that rain

To kiss wet and give life to a living

That was never there before