The Panic Bird by Robert Phillips

LEAVING A RESIDUE

WET DISHRAG

FROM BEHIND

AND THEN... AGAIN.

BLACK BLOOD

CLACKING BEAK

FOUL BREATH

TOO LATE...

I'D FEND IT

EXCREMENT

RIPS OFF STRIPS

GARBAGE

LIFE CONTINUES

IS GONE

I'M PREY

SICKLE-SHAPED