Tale Weaver 28: art & artist and Wordle #124


My well-oiled feathers weep

With sparks of treason

And doubts enough

To cripple the world.

My inky tongue shoots

A filigree of stars

Into scarlet mouth holes

And eyes so wide

They split the seams.


The trees sway,

Full moon coarse

As a whetstone.

A vulture stirs

Wet bones closed

Within a sacrilegious beak.

Crunch Crunch

All is lost.

Crunch Crunch

The unlivable death

Begins and ends

With a collusion of flesh

And pockets wrung

Of meager content.


I envisioned this more as being consumed by the painting. I went with a very surreal approach as some paintings have very bizarre and multi-layered metaphorical imagery. I approached this like a dream where everything seen is a manifestation of some aspect of your psyche.