No Such Things As Wings

once worshipped

plagiarized protests end in a hospital bed
a rind, wracked
rotting without filter or veil

revoked by both black & white feathers
they’ll strain to speak but only squawk

and when sleep conclusively comes
we’ll see how they plummet towards the angel(s)trumpet
of a burgeoning womb

nine months later
they’ll mewl / wriggle
and go forth again

and i say ‘there are no such things as wings,” as i sluff
in a waning eternity in limit, in leftovers, lucid palms

inked by the cough of my own infidelity

denying dogma / or at least
the embryonic cherub eluding the greener half
of your gospels

so long have been seized the heavy white feathers
in good conscience
God would never place into your suspicious hands

it’s been known that i will get none,

but when i sleep, i will sleep well.


Photography by CheyAnne at Wicked Lambs Designs

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