ANGELS by Thothmoses

"Beware of those Angels without wings."
-Billy Corgan, Cherub Rock (Smashing Pumpkins)

If the very paths
soluble even before
the absence of wind
on the water where
they hunt, and where
the animals they hunt
resemble them
the amorous spider
immobile
in the direction of the wind
so fructifying
like an iced cider
in the sensual space
of a cellar – for
coolness is a
passion and your hands are
alive and slender like
birds of passage –
or multiplied
by the falling night and
steamed by the ground, or
exonerated by the sun, and
cast in nonchalance
to the ground – but
to another verticality
than that
of walls – to the image
of others, not of the self, and
in unreality of others
if need be, but outside of
ourselves, always, toward
the reconciliation of
centrifugal forces taken
in the absurdity of landscape
what then?
We laugh through the oral
rent on the threshold of
de-motion, for the Medusas
of the notion are
the will paralysed by
the ruse of broken lines.

from
THE STUCCO ANGEL,
By JEAN BAUDRILLARD

Thothmoses VIII Translator of the Gods. Scribe of the Kings. Next in line for the throne.