Our inventions split their cocoons, and the whir of wings was deafening...
Thursday, April 1, 2010
A fracture line; I eat from another world,
for no reason but to cover this one.
I breathe in suffocated bursts,
a ritual to break the routine lurch.
The irony in a poisoned fang
and its filling sense of change;
a memory in my valves.
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