Cold Shoulder Voices - Poem by Moses Samandar
Angel on hindsight
Foul on an area of light. A vanishing monk.
A living stalk. A living hen.
Drumroll - please.
Hence we fly, I dry.
What do we say, quiet please.
I fly like an eagle. I walk like the empty spirit.
Ecstatic Bombastic Flying.
Bravo my friend, you are welcome to heaven.
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