Matutine

It came, por el cielo.
Their avant-garde bravado:
the quintessence of fear.
Lachesis croons, “The end is nigh.”
We call Clotho the weaver
as steel birds run asunder.
Enemy-vultures court danger
and the people are sitting. [ducks]
Third empire—third Kaiser;
the Blitzkrieg warrior:
waits.
Duly noted. The wolves are teething.
Erebus covers Atropos’ eyes,
hiding last feathers of yellow skies.
Ivory lips part, “Sofort!”
Fait accompli, Azrael nears.

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