Today's Prophets?

Where are those unwitting,
who see angels in the furrows of waking life?

Are they quiet and pious
and simply adorned?

Are they tempered by their vision?

See,
I imagine them distant:
glowering on mountain top
or drawing shallow breath
standing filthy in the city street
shouting themselves hoarse--
ragged and unkempt

Forget the angels!
They're only wispy apparitions,
more memory than mediator:
Gabriel's no magpie,
not anymore

Otherwise, you wouldn't
see a people paralyzed 
by somber account of heavenly whim,
leather bound and prim,
looming from bed side and mantel top

No more words!
let's see some action!

I'll start worrying about the horsemen
after I can feed my family