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Image for post

Filleted feathers, open wide with narrow margins of infinity

Unmelted colors surround linings of fresh blood, slowly dripping for pleasure of sun and earth

Flesh summons the procession of sandy movements, when dust kicks into the spirits of floundering beats

Silence denies thunderous clouds, catering to enveloped fortunes of strewn flutters in burrows of heaven

Flying high in screams that reclaim sights unknown as ceremonies below magnify direction for torchlight

Red stained fingers itch the awesomeness of ominous rituals of songs rivaling the laughter of hidden stars

I killed the bird

And swallowed its beak in pools that squeaked with bites

The bird I killed is reborn at midnight.

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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