a bald headed buzzard

sylvia called death a bald headed buzzard

yet she gratefully stepped into the ebon winged embrace of the carrion collector

i think death must be beautiful

an angel casting negative shadows with every displaced breeze caused by multi-hued peacock feathered wings

a ring of lavender tinted perfection floating just above hermaphroditus beauty transcends simple earthly concepts

a last release of chemical serendipity

then nothing ever again

sylvia called death a bald headed buzzard

yet she willing accepted the ebon winged embrace unafraid of the scraps of flesh in the carrion collector’s gnarled claws

the incomprehensible weight of being can change even a poet’s unshakeable point of view

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