In the Twilight of the Twenty-Third Week of the Fifty-Sixth Year of Our Lord

Skin of a boa constrictor left dangling on a branch in the twilight of the twenty-third week of the fifty-sixth year of our Lord holds its hollow scales, petrified of drying up in the glare of tomorrow’s sun, that chapping tyrant.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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