Bird of Pray
The pen
is my last resource,
the final chimney, smoking,
the final thought
taking shape;
a psyche
lagging
The paper
is where I throw myself up
and leave to dry
pecked
by an indiscriminate
bird of pray,
black & white
at the altar,
fully formal
in the boredom
of urns
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2026-04-29 at 20:31
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