Yesterday I found an angel in a pinstripe suit
who lent me his car, I traveled down the dust-specked
road with moths in the headlamps to Cape Canavral
where the rockets launched at daybreak. I met
a woman statue there who cried tears that fell in
a chalice filled with langour, and I asked her
where she bought her melancholy armor.

The rockets launched off and created a streak of
pinstripes across the archaic sky. My lady of statues
pointed at the horizon's blade pressed there like the
promise of love. Engines blared mercurial blazes
and my heart took off, wrapped in carrier pigeon's
leather.

In the motel, there rang silver bells
and the television shaped into a triangle
where our angles met like joints in a statue's armor.

The moon beams fortune upon the bold at daybreak,
where the flesh ends in armor. The rain moves
like blessings across the earth and angels in pinstripes
break down any dark armor.