Ragged Angels Young ones in small rooms chasing the poem chasing the story going crazy starving for something they cannot name. Drunk at noon and midnight and four a.m. Young angels wandering hard streets with desperate eyes angry and in love lost on the edge of nowhere. Beware them. They are vast and magic as the moon soothes nothing as the sun burns their eyes as the sidewalks lie hard cracked and unforgiving beneath their holy feet. They are explosives meant to shatter you and keep daggers hidden in worn notebooks which you will someday plunge willingly into your own heart. They need nothing you could ever give. Heaven means only the right words spilling from their hands. This is their salvation all they ever desire. I know them. Beware. I was once among their host. Advice for Cannibals First of all, no one loves you, so don’t expect many social invitations. Bar mitzvahs weddings birthday parties — pretty much anything where food is served — you can forget about. No one wants to be reminded of your regular menu especially when they’re trying to eat. No one loves you, though you are occasionally good for a laugh if some joker is feeling funny and wants to crack everyone up at your expense. Of course, no one is really surprised if those people end up gone a day or two later and you walk around town all greasy or gnawing on long bones. You can forget about women, too, unless we are talking ingredients. I’m sure you understand. So you’re going to be lonely. That’s fine. Stick to your task. Fulfill your purpose. Full pots and roaring fires sharp knives and axes will be your companions. You were born to your nature and that’s how the universe likes it. I cannot speak for the others, but I will not blame you for long gazes at people enjoying their lives. Your regrets may be profound and connections must be taken as they come. No one loves you. You know why. Might as well enjoy the feast.