the air is still
thick with dust
coating the rafters that shimmer with
its presence no matter the number of times the
pressure-washer blasts
strips down
the bare wood
vulnerable
the flock writhes and bleats
they know they will soon be
exposed
as the wiry hair falls to the barn floor
razor buzzing
one wonders if
we are all just sheep with
nothing
underneath the layers of wool
YOU ARE READING
metamorphosis
Poetrya collection of poetry written during quarantine, the tumultuous 2020 school year, and the entering into a post-covid world. randomly updated.
