I'm not sure about this one. What do you think?

I can recall:
The softness of stiff feathers on my back,
Cresting my shoulder blades.
The spines, rooted deeply in my flesh
Singing from the skin, a loud chorus
That made it hard to sleep at night.
No one stops their mind’s wandering
When they see my portrait,
An archetype fingered lovingly in the mind
Or spat from the mouths of atheists.
They do not stop, they can’t know
The touch of feathers on their back,
Oily with prayer or
Stiff with disuse. Like their faith
Which does not stretch, or stop to feel
The breathing that is the
Breathy touch of
Feathers on one’s back.
They do not stop to imagine
The heavens yawning away before them,
Or the blinding brightness of
So many stars, as staring eyes
That will never stop,
Or close their mouths,
Ceaseless as the crowds and traffic and
The people who do not stop
To draw my face, or finger
The archetype lovingly in their mind.
Some don’t have the time to
Spit my name, or think of
The breathing that is wings unfolding
And the breathy touch of
Feathers on one’s skin.
They don’t stop their mind’s wandering
Or stand still in the street
When their faith catches its breath, stiff with disuse
Upon seeing my portrait, to think:
An angel is not designed,
With feathers rooted deeply in its flesh
Singing a loud chorus, and oily with prayer,
I am not designed to lay myself down
And sleep.