Ink Blots

Somewhere in a pearlescent pool hell
an angel sports tats on its wings

Surely there is encouragement
in being desperately human
in the fellowship of natural flaw
birds of a feather you might well say

Yet we do not consider equality
a gift to be cherished
instead conspiring to be gods
at least dawning celestial forms

We ink wings on our lats
cinemetastasize beings who long to feel
We self-justify as we are
err-apparent to the Divine

Yes somewhere out there we fancy
an angel sports tatted wings

When folded they depict
an atlas of the mortal form
the weight of the heavens
on its bare and blotted shoulders

About Greg Wright

I have worn many hats as a writer and editor over the years. Unlike my scholarly and journalistic work from the "old days" at Hollywood Jesus, Past the Popcorn, or SeaTac Blog, the writing here is of a more overtly personal and spiritual nature. I hope it provokes you as much as it provokes me.
This entry was posted in About Jenn, Other, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Ink Blots

  1. J. Leone says:

    Tatting… black ink… once-white christening gowns… and a mound of molted, mortal feathers that once mounted clouds…

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