Impossible angel

[zorcas]

Impossible angel

Beer and cigarettes
and you, your languid locks, you cluster beer, butts and her, suggesting equal worth for all; is she also a bad habit?
are always in my world of drunken walks
through Barbican and Bishopsgate,
in the moonbeam shallows
of walls spattered with poetry.

Thursday nights your longing is a sea why does she long for a drunk? Have you redemptive qualities or virtues you haven't explained, though that would have to be skillfully done so as to not seem boastful and self-aggrandizing?
crossing through hours of drunkenness.
Mindful glances in the mermaid shadows
turn not to me.

Impossible angel
that runs not to me. problem is that self-pity for being ignored by the angel is not offset in any way in this poem because it generates in the reader at most pity, surely nothing a poet should care for---yet the poem does absolutely nothing to counter.

But runs to the deep sea's emptiness
in the white frothed wave that follows
the moon's pale lamp of loneliness
that burns not for me. indeed, as pointed out elsewhere, it does burn for thee.