A bird conquered
soaring skies
we clenched teeth
and fists
a war is on, to add
to the everyday mayhem
bones rushing
blood gushing
Furies.
Expanded nostrils.
The bird lies on a splatter
of waste.
But, is dead.
We are not, swirling in mists
of agony.
He sighs and says:
Life is a conundrum
He is a leader.
We are not.
Last night a ghoul was predatory
an ordinary beast.
No explosions.
Just a ripple of laughter.
Image © 2019 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York
