Gray Angel (day 3024)

I am not an angel.
My wings broke,
And the sky laughed
While sun spit pink
Upon both edges
Of the letting horizon,
And just as trees
Bagan to bend
Like wings of a crow
Moving again,
My two feet
So placed
Into thick layers
Of mud, unfolding,
Began to tremble
And quake
Further losing development
Of each gray spot of mind.

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