Damn those
modern commercial
tales of angels
worthy of no song
worthy of nothing
but to be spit out

Damn the soft way
we’ve made angels
so gentle
civilized
Made them human

Better and more true
to see them as
feral
wide-jawed
darlings
of a Heaven
of savage graces
beyond our puny visions

Sing therefore
the existence
of an angel
who has taken
the shape of a dog
and fallen from
the sky’s mouth
to this profane floor
where we live

Sing therefore
of this Angel Dog
landing upright
and snarling
with the holy blind rage
of Primary Being

Sing therefore
not of heavenly hosts
but of packs 
Not of divine choirs
but of mobs
Not of hymns
and plainchant

Millions upon millions
howling a dissonant storm
behind Angel Dog
Throats open teeth 
ablaze tongues
solitary flames
massed voices 
a great wind

You have taken
Primary Being
from being present
in all faces
to being present 
in only one and
some of you see
Primary Being
as non-existent
Some of you shrug
and say it’s not 
worthy of
consideration

What you can know
of Primary Being
would not fill
a baby’s thimble
would not open
a cracked egg
would not turn
an open lockbox key

Angel Dog
splay legged
war stance
standing before
the Pack of Heaven

All you can know
of Primary Being
is how to lie still
when it lands upon you
Breathes in your face
Growls in your ear
Shakes you in its mouth
Tosses you up
Is gone when you land
If you are lucky
If you are lucky
Get up and sing
of the Angel Dog

licking his jaws
saying

Perhaps one face of God
is all you can handle 
so let it be mine
Let it be mine