satanism or a love poem 

i don't know how to use a shoe
to breathe. i kick down the door.
wield a hammer to knock a hole in the ceiling.
"i can't wait for vacation," i say again.
there is no vacation, i just am going 
to lay down on the roof & hope to see
a passing angel. if i see one i'm going to catch him
with a butterfly net & make him give me
a little miracle. i know they aren't wishing creatures.
everything holy is something taken.
i'll get us gold chalices to drink
our diet coke from or maybe just
a telephone i can pick up & complain
to the universe. satan sometimes delivers our mail.
other times he is just sitting upstairs 
with the cats. tonight we argued until
all the windows opened themselves.
i don't know if you know me & that is
terrifying. i put a zucchini out for the hounds to feast 
on something other than blood.
i think we should take our eyes out
& roll them in sugar. i think we should 
try kissing in the dark. i always wanted
to be a stranger. i don't worship satan.
that is a huge misconception. i just buy him bagels
& sometimes we talk about sadness.
he is depressed most of the time.
i hate when someone asks me, "why?"
isn't the television enough to make you
want to become a basement?
he says, "you are not yourself."
i don't know if he means i am acting off
or if i am metaphysically changed. 
i bring him old magazines. he brushes his teeth.
i ask him, "will you promise
not to tell anyone i talk to you?"
how many times has someone else
asked that of me? i want to take it back but
he puts up a hand. he says, "of course. 
that is what i do." i leave him all the dead flies
i can find. he eats them like raisins. 
this is all to say i want you back.
i know i know, i am not saying it well.
i like to think there are old ghosts of us
still slow dancing in the kitchen.
i got this angel just for you. i think he has
at least one miracle left in him
before he starts to bite. tell me love,
what are you craving?