Sunday, November 8, 2009


by P.A. Flaherty

Majestic Griffin swoops downward in the inky predawn. ”King of beasts,” a blind supplicant prays “I have searched for you on lonely cliffs and in ancient forests! Please, feathers for my eyes!” Griffin’s eyes scan the pilgrim, his petty sins, his seething hope. “Unworthy,” Griffin decrees. Snap. Screech. Skin severs; bone tears; sun rises.

No comments: