Miggy Angel: from “Boy, Bestiary”

Northumberland Bestiary (Detail), 1250–60, courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program


Call me blood,

brother. Crouched

ogre gathers


forces together

under gangrenous

cover. Street


lamps glow

ochre. Never-Never

gonna Land


again, Peter

Pan of ruined

heirlooms. Nike


Hulk, nukes

sidewalk. Knuckles

coaxed and cocked,


ready to fist

fuck like Christ

did Judas. God


never gave us

the gun in our

mouths. God


is a gun

in the



Burned boys learned by rote

to speak the white tundra

mantra of machismo and media


He taught us to sing. This

is it in the eve of its leavening, and

this is it leaving. This is it


returning again. And this

is the drought and the routed

field. This is the farm and this


is the pharmaceutical. This is god’s

will, and this is his little yellow

pill. This tablet is so ancient,


this fable is so fabulous. It says

the pill will help you fall. Will

help you watch the world burn.


It will decapitate the genitals, and

free you from the sensory

hell. Abandoned-building boy-body


tells another story.



Think catharsis

is a trick

of psychiatry,


a tricycle

with no wheels,



that mauls. It’s

what Tommy said

the first time


the knife goes in

is like, said

it’s the bluest


blue blooming

from the beloved’s

belly, relief


of intestines

and secrets.



vomit and neon




Miggy Angel writes books and edits Burning House Press. Boy, Bestiary is forthcoming from Ice Floe Press, 2019.