Angels Poem by Shane Markie

Contrary to popular belief angels have no important function in the array of mythic beings. They seem to be primarily decorative,
hovering above a saint pierced with arrows or part of a heavenly
chorus, white and shining in the sky. They are like yachts skimming the blue, so beautiful in the sun. Useless as guardians or messengers, they have a lot of time on their hands. One has lingered too long among humans, fastinated by the possibility of a toothache or unrequieted love. Heedless that his wings will no longer lift him more than a foot or so off the ground, one shuffles
down the street at disk, pretending to be a nineteenth century poet, a misunderstood genius, hunched over in his great cape.