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What's the angle an angel uses in its descent from heaven, in its wayward journey through the lives of men, in its wingless shrugging flapping motioning moaning mores? How many on the tip of a thimble, how many on the edge of a glass, how many on the rim of a lampshade, how many on a star, how many on the moon, how many on the sun? What day, what word, what subtle gesture will convince their movements momentarily to perturb? Where for us art thou?