nonmetamorphosis by simeon psimian

non-metamorphosis

my shoulderblades continue to itch
but prolonged examination in the mirror
finds not the slightest trace
of feathers beginning to sprout

at the bottom of my spine
where my tail should have been
the muscles which still long to twitch it
have long since wasted away

in between my chest and my throat
there floats a large and shimmering moon
and so there can be no good reason
for me to ever need to howl