Sea-angels

The Sirens wave me off

My craft of paranoia floats away

No paddle, just my wet arm

And a hurried fear.

Sail from the rocks, needle sharp sunset

Calls of good luck from pin-toothed mouths

Damp, dappled white- green hands wave me away

The same cold clamminess touches my brow

And the space beneath my boat is deeper than I could imagine.

Nausea pales my skin to grey

My mirrored face in the waves could so easily be one who’s changed their mind

My wet arm reflects, a slender hook to pull me beneath with a laugh.

via Daily Prompt: Sail

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Milly the God speaker and his angelic secretary

Milton wrote a thing about a thing.

And he was blind.

He thought god made him so, so that he could better see the miraculous vision of a paradise lost.

An angel dictated to him, he said.

He thought he was sort of like Theresa from Fable, or other milky-eyed, mystical figures from art.