Sunday, March 11, 2018

A. J. Huffman writes



Darkling

beak. I am bird
or beast, speaking in language
of night. I cry in comatosed
echoes of yesterday. I am
consumed by black. Feathers
fall like foliage. I am molting,
a flightless folly, fluttering nowhere
in visions of forever.

Image of Molting 
Molting -- Gregory Hergert

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