sky’s set of angel wings –
are they clouds that look like ribs…
Wings
skin crawls,
they say,
but to me it is the brush of insect wings….
Metamorphosis
is not always transparent
goo like the monarch,
garbling the green and yellow…
Don’t call me an angel,
I made some choices
I’m not proud of…
Fluttering away,
As a breeze passes on through…
What would you call them?
After the possible jokes…
Daily Poets 