Edwin Cordero


Wretched Wings


Weathered wings doing wretched things
On my life, wringing everything.
I hear him breathe, as a disease,
Slowly consuming.
I'm not he—no—I believe
It's a fearful illusion.
We were heading to the ceiling
In fusion.
The scream seized this body
In fury of confusion.
These toes curled,
Lifting the power in our world
To block the union.

I've never experienced such force—
Such voice.

She said I was laughing, last night,
To noise.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 02, 2013

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