They have little use. They are best as objects of torment.
No government cares what you do with them.

Like birds, and yet so human . . .
They mate by briefly looking at the other.
Their eggs are like white jellybeans.

Sometimes they have been said to inspire a man
to do more with his life than he might have.
But what is there for a man to do with his life?

. . . They burn beautifully with a blue flame.

When they cry out it is like the screech of a tiny hinge; 
the cry of a bat. No one hears it . . .

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1382 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Russell Edson
Poem: Angels
Volume: The Tormented Mirror
Year: Published/Written in 2001
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