A mechanical angel's duties are not difficult: Govern lightning bolts, bring bread and wine, Watch through the window how flames climb the walls, Talk with street lamps about old times. A mechanical angel's duties are not difficult: Feed chimeras in the tower every hundred years, Step softly so the metal will not clang, Cloak freezing caryatids with fog. A mechanical angel's duties are difficult: Blocade the door, do not let Death in, And if she enters, show her a sleeping brother And convince her he doesn't have a soul.

Likes
Cloudy, foggy day. Damp is the air. Tea steam is dancing. Aroma of jazmine. Take a seat. We will talk about the soul. He comes across the granite yard, Grizzled feather glint in his black wings. He strokes the tree, the water and the cat, Glances at the mirror of the day. And the pond shivers though the wind has stilled, And the cat on the doorsill attacks the air Like a mouse. The tree's blood begins to jell, Day falls in stains on the brown grass. The hundred year old oak door Screeches like a newborn. Through yellow fog The patient's eyes see: rainbows Slump to earth like cackling parrots. The clock counts out the time for the living, A spider hangs his web among the stars, And the angel, having entered the hearth, Turns into smoke, ashes, embers.

Dislikes
Stupid people, bitches, stalkers, gangstas.