Nicole Zdeb, 01/12

All Hue Forgotten

The path out of the city cuts through a department store,
wire hangers, mouse droppings, frayed tags
telling the outdated price of things.

In the corner, a naked Viking does crunches.
His penis is tucked between his legs, a distended cleft
that flashes when his torso uncurls.

Rusty mechanics, birds with devolved feathers.
The oldest common ancestor maybe used the feathers
to help escape when running uphill, but it didn’t fly.

Don’t take the material world as the only material world.

The future doesn’t deliver prophets,
but I don’t know this for certain.

Promote. Poetry.
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