Fallen Angel Sara, the fallen angel wingspan, eight feet, invisible, save for one egg shaped blue birthmark,  center forehead, sits on her unmovable mule, Elmer. She weeps, tosses Godiva hair. Our Sara, a virgin nun before angelhood, tossed from the pearly gates for dunking lost souls too deep into rushing red rivers, losing more than a few  to swift racing currents, so busy fingering herself to notice. Shit happens, she shrugged to the inquiring Tribunal. She misses saving the sexually addicted, their hormones raging in the blossoming frenzy of Spring. Horny, she prays to the saints of Bacchus, hopes she can find someone like Johnny Depp or Tom Waits without Mapquest. Knows she can bring a smile to their face when she rides them--faster than Elmer,  (she hopes), leaving them with happy fantasies about bouncing blue eggs ,fluttering wings,  and the strange stirring sound of the wind moaning. Pris Campbell ©2007 Art: Lady Godiva by John Collier      from All Posters.com Return to Poetry Index II Return to Homepage