Pinched nose end to an extrusion
the limp dangles cut from its face
the lacking details in its eyes staring
accusing, like a Salem girl found wandering
late night after curfew.
The doctrine on unfinished angels
leads me to believe we are not bright lights
there is no division in our natures
no Gnostic affirmation, no body cage,
but it makes for pretty pictures.
Perhaps crystal structures make
a better allusion, our faults at interstices
the diffracting light a medium
a differentiation; here in this incomplete world
can we hope to comprehend perfection?