Artist: Abbott H. Thayer
Noon, a painting

Abbott H. Thayer (1849-1921), 1921, oil on canvas, 91 x 59 1/4 inches.

Commentary by Lance Larsen
Poet Laureate, State of Utah
Professor of English


Lives of Angels

We wipe sleep from our eyes and here we are: girdled in lightning.
City of Enoch vs Sodom and Gomorrah—just another crosstown rivalry.
Hell no, Hell no. Not a curse to us, but a cheer.
A harp is a harp is a harp is a harp, except when it is a cosmic vaporizer.
No, we’re not for hire.
To hie to Kolob, just blink. Keep blinking for 1000 years.
Our humming bends time.
Our recreation? Watching school kids fashion coat hangers into halos.
Also cleaning up the Abyss.
We whistle, and the sky clears for a Grateful Dead concert in Peoria.
Angelonic is the new black.
Miracles R Us: taking back the world one feather, one fallen sparrow at a time.
Write all requests in pink sidewalk chalk.
Are we jealous of your lusty bodies? Cue up celestial laugh track.
Your shadows smell of rancid meat.
Your kisses equal rosebuds that never open.
Think of us as black holes in reverse.
The only device that can take our picture: a Urim and Thummim in a time warp.
In the fourth dimension, our navels shimmer like the Northern Lights.
Pray you’re nowhere near when we unfurl our wings.
We lived our life, now we’re living yours.
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