Shiver—free

 

Ferriers winged and sexless shivered
off events—twisted free. However
whatever we said
there arises new—new: ribs of worms and jarred dark
kept cupboarded for that endless dawn of
recurring twilight.

Angels will starve—cannibalization of all intents.

Yet, between them, we cannot watch
them pass again. Whatever
however they sung
an old song—old: dishes of banded floral root and fretted light
long left in the sun for a morning ending
night’s now.

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