Matthew J McKee

A Cruel Thesis Concerning Angels Matthew J McKee

The truth of anything is never just a conversation of what is on the surface. To every mirror there is an obverse. If there is light, there must be darkness. And if there are angels, then some of them must be rather cynical, bored with fliting around the throne, tired of endless choruses and their mundane lives in the domain of absolute justice. Having grown tired; having grown bored; I imagine these angels sitting on the edge of heaven, heels dangling from a storm cloud stained rotten by the smoking of their thin, French cigarettes, their beautiful white robes running red with spilled wine. They sneer to one another, pointing out over the bent horizon, raining down lightning bolts of insight onto the unsuspecting heads of humankind below. But rather than divine, these wine-barrel philosophers of heaven are responsible for all our off-kilter thoughts; all our renegade imaginings; all our obverse, dark-sided poetry. Collected here is just that. Poetry for those deviants divinely inspired to fly to a future unknown on wings of freedom created by nothing more than a misheard song lyric, pushing their hands deeper into their pockets, forever following the mountain trail higher up into the dark, storm-cloud halo hanging over their head.