Fly Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels
Fly Ii
Cellophane wings that
thrummed the pane
drained of vim
still on the windowsill
your bronze engines
overturned
like a junkyard car
legs paired hairily,
scarily
clutch the air
eyes, brooches of compound red,
stare and stare
signs that all
correctly read
say 'sorry babe,
you're dead'.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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4/25/2024 9:33:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
