It was an unraveling
like these sorts of things always are
a thin spool of thread
where the sweater once hung
a dead bird
it’s neck craned backwards
at a tilt most unnatural
unfeathered wings snapped
like pencils which you side step
the fall from great heights,
from nest to the shore
from roof to the pavement
from hanger to floor
from heaven to hell
the door slam
like the crash of thousand
beautifully carved marble statues hitting the sidewalk
at once.
2 years ago
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