Shrinking Monarchs
Blown on cooling winds your paper wings flutter in the breeze, a murmuration of autumn leaves stretched across the horizon. Stray gusts catch the chosen
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Blown on cooling winds your paper wings flutter in the breeze, a murmuration of autumn leaves stretched across the horizon. Stray gusts catch the chosen
Fleeing down grassy corridors from whirring teeth that hack at your habitat with ill-managed discipline; this rich mossy canvas spat out as loamy clots, to