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Click hereShe stands centered in a nebula
of strewn sponge-cake crumbs, surrounded
by a nervous gray plasma of pigeons
pecking and pitting the ground.
Spine curved as a cane
of bent ash, slowly
she spins around and around.
Bobby, she sings to me,
smiling from the globe's diamond core
whose dreadful gravity pulls me in and in,
All God's children have wings, oh Lord.
All God's children have wings.
Survivor Poetry Contest
Trigger 35, Poet's Choice (Free Verse)
I found the entire thing difficult to read. Not just the word choices, but the placement as well.
Delightful, but I struggle with orrery. It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, and I thought she deserved better at the beginning because she was so eloquent at the end.