Another installment of my intermittent versification.
Failing
(for L.X. Chilton)
When the targets line up
and I can smell the sweet, cloying, awful smell of success
I look for the trapdoor
Who can bear the weight of approval
It's always a lie
And so would I be
I prefer the weightless
Shape of Failure
Raptors
I listen to two raptors cry
For hours outside
I should be sleeping but it fascinates
More a keening
Than a threat
I feel the frogs shiver
And the voles twitch
Even bats
Stay in their roost
And the raptors cry
For the death they must deliver.
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