we are all drop-dead wire hanger children
who still cling to mama’s skirt when she tells us to go free
because we have lost the wings that kept us grounded;
on gray skies and blue-black, bruised blood we flew
before the flood came down and washed away the meat
leaving only metal skeletons of our universal selves, our
heartbeats pressed inside paper envelopes, stored away
in moth-eaten coats.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC
we are all drop-dead wire hanger children
who still cling to mama’s skirt when she tells us to go free
because we have lost the wings that kept us grounded;
on gray skies and blue-black, bruised blood we flew
before the flood came down and washed away the meat
leaving only metal skeletons of our universal selves, our
heartbeats pressed inside paper envelopes, stored away
in moth-eaten coats.