Hinged
One your wings (legs) closed
you never spread them again.
Your eyes remained open, though,
even when they removed and weighed
your organs one by one,
the assistant chewing gum
though he wasn’t supposed to
as he typed the numbers.
They remained open when they
placed you in the trough
and slid it into the furnace.
They stayed open through the burning,
and everyone present agreed
that they were the most beautiful eyes
they had ever seen. They
look at me now every time
I open the little cabinet,
its wooden doors parting
on their hinges
like legs, like wings,
preparing to fuck, to fly,
to let in the light
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