Petal Gospel

looking for words between books and secret spaces where only secret words could fit and get stuck on something more concrete than myself repeating “planet eater” for a week because liking the sound of a voice is not enough to breathe it into a body. I am trying to make up a word to fill some hole in the air not yet eaten by a planet but I am not a planet eater and the hole is just an outline of two old words forced together. what philosophy is this, bastardized frustration in ethereal dress. what would it take to hop a train from the backyard and disappear night after day into the modern boxcar king millennial giving away a buck for a bottle and a kiss on the mouth devouring scenery with wine soaked minds, true planet eaters, true angels sweating bullets in high desert skies, true religions asking nothing but cactus flowers at man-height left to prickle your eyes with petal gospels true angel in the sun, eyes closed angel deathwish, holy water on the streets, two on the ground six speed in the wind, electric temples on side roads buzzing angel lights til we all come home, rubbing bright into our eyes, dirt in our palm lines and dusty angel minds. dreaming of longer roads, dreaming that two planets collide like a cosmic ouroboros daylight eating time.