They have little use. They are best as objects of torment.
         No government cares what you do with them.

         Like birds, and yet so human ...
         They mate by briefly looking at the other.
         Their eggs are like white jellybeans.

         Sometimes they have been said to inspire a man to do more with his life than he might have.
         But what is there for a man to do with his life?

         ... They burn beautifully with a blue flame.

         When they cry out it is like the screech of a tiny hinge; the cry of a bat. No one hears it ...
 

“Angels” from The Tormented Mirror: Poems by Russell Edson