Our house was by an air base and a highway.

Jets roared above us everyday, shaking glass.

The hum of cars was constant, numbing thoughts.


The highway led to the interstate and the world.

The jets and cargo planes went to the coastal war.

We were in the same town and house, powerless.


In my room at night, listening to sad love songs,

I dreamed of an angel, a messenger angel, Gabriel

coming with sacred news, that would light my world.


The jets would roar over my house, drowning out the

soft and melancholy sounds, and the numbing hum of

the highways, and I would feel The Devil so close to me.


And the war raged on, and the trucks kept on in the night,

and maybe Gabriel was that owl on my window sill,

and maybe sacred words would be given to me, this town.



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