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~ By
Courtesy of Others ~
Feast
The corpse has been picked
clean; what remains, remains
for baser creatures. Memory
struts along what was once
useful, fluttering black feathers
content to linger awhile,
digesting. Replete
Thought grows restless,
opens his beak and
croaks: the sound echoes.
Somewhere, an Old Man smiles.
© Maris Pái
Huginn
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Biannual online journal
of alternative heathen viewpoints, featuring poetry
and articles
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