Moon Motel Valentine

It's the color of the armor
of the mounted troops come
to destroy us all again
the dark blue underbelly
of history's grand finale
and it's only five o'clock
though I did beg for rain
and some destruction
that there could be gods
so far above they can't
even see us germs without
a guilt microscope painfully
reinserted from memory
the question how to square
the requisite seriousness
with real comic timing so
poetry and philosophy
finally get a room together
which explains their readership
a permanent minority of
lakes in a desert of mirages
I'll have my angel call
your angel they'll know
where to go from here.