your eyes look like sunset today

the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore

An ant based society
may lack variety
they work to the beat
of six tiny feet
but they all get to eat
ants don't hold elections
that lead to insurrection
an ant inspired riot
would be extremely quiet

Too many is too much,
And it's still too many.

WHAT ELSE IS A MIND FOR?

He bent low
as he entered the door

but his wings
caught on the lintel.

"**** this human habitation
it was obviously not built for

angels
in mind."

He cursed his cursing.
"God forgive me for swearing!"

It was his first time
on earth

and he had been used to being
only a painting.

I never held that against him.

Wasn't it my mind that snatched him
from such an existence?

When I say "He"
I could have said "She."

Such awesome androgyny!
"Gender just isn't our thing."

A bit like
Prospero's Ariel.

I had prised him from
a painting of an Annunciation.

There was a squelch
and a **** of paint.

Somewhere in Florence
an angel vanished

leaving behind
an angel-shaped hole.

And I
had made him real.

Kidnapped him
from the reproduction I had found him in.

Why?
What else is a mind for?

After all I was
going to grow into a poet.

He always showed
just the one side of him

as the other side would have been
just canvas backing.

So he walked
like an Egyptian.

He become a friend
so to speak.

I thought him how
to talk.

And other such human
being accomplishments.

He was thankful
to be made real.

He had been paint
for such a long long time

it had become a pain
in the...ahhh...neck.

And he had had cramp
for over a century

on the top of his left
wing.

He had wanted to sneeez
for years and years.

He thought I was amazing
hadn't realised the human

imagination
could do such a thing.

"You're a bit like God
in that respect!"

I was only 7
at the time

and my mind hadn't closed down
into being a grown up.

I thought that with all this
Catholic Education

shoved down my throat
about guardian angels and such

then I would make my own
steal one from a painting

just add thought.

Ok so the paint was
made flesh.

After all as I've already said
what else is

a mind for

when one is going to grow
into a poet.