They pretend to be
resurrection men.
Stitching feathers
into my skin.
They pretend to fly
when they send me
into the sun.
I pretend to be on fire,
streaking like a comet.
But I am only held together
with glue.
JKolasch
Cool. Loving this!
I’m glad you enjoyed it! This was a fun poem to write.
Heights to explore, but not without great cost and inadequate preparation. Only glue to hold a flight toward the sun; what could go wrong?
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