he flinches in the light,

head down,

checking himself for sins

he might have missed

when he tried

to scrub the darkness away,

but his soul is frail

like butterfly wings,

and he opened holes

beneath the mist

he wears as skin,

shaped like the bristles

of whiskey and cigarette burns,

harsh like good intention

possessed by weakness.

but there is no door

in the cocoon

shaped for re-entry,

no wisp of nature's breath

that forms a current

back to the beginning,

no passage beneath the clock,

but he rises, knowing,

broken wings

can still glide home.

my butter flies.

it melts and mingles with my ghosts.

catch you on the flip side, butter.

My naked butterfly girl

with gossamer wings

folded inside her breast,

soar in my dreams as

your wings unravel,

whispering melodies

on earthly currents.

Flit in yellow blazes of

tides of joy turning waves

toward your face,

a joyous reunification

of haunting last supper

of ambrosial nectar.

March in blue formations

of tissue paper wings

flutter my way

in a rebirth of your

fragile life,

symbolizing the yearning

in my pleading soul

for you to dance

in my fantasies.

Escape the cage

of entrapment

which robs your spirit

and hides you within.

Crawl within my essence

and become one

with my heart

and float with me

on airy wings.

The artists rarely depict the torture

How deeply it cuts

How sharply it stings

How cruelly it burns

How you're squeezed from all sides

You're frozen, trapped

You cry out in torment,

giving a voice to your pain

But your darkest scream

Comes out as a tiny whisper

No one hears you

No one would help even if they did

You canʼt help yourself

You see nothing but midnight

You feel nothing but torment

You canʼt even move a finger

Every breath is a struggle

When the air is full of needles

Every breath slices into your throat

Leaving your lungs in ribbons

You wish for death

But God hates you

So you live

Welcome to your new reality

Unexpected light

Breath of fresh air

The pain releases you from its hateful grip

And you're free

And you have new wings

And a new body

But you don't care,

You've just gotta get away

Oceans away

Fly fast

Fly far

Now go farther

You check over your shoulder

Is the pain in pursuit?

You're scared to relax,

You're scared the hurt will find you again

Meanwhile painters paint

The singers sing while the poets prose

Transcendent

Your metamorphosis is renowned worldwide

Countless odes to your transformation

Praise of your newfound beauty

You are a living testament

the Beauty of Change

Fuck them all

They don't know the cost of your existence

They don't know you'd give up your beauty

In an instant, with no hesitation

If you could relive life without the pain

If you could settle the fear

That keeps you running

Keeps you hiding and avoiding

Keeps you safe

Until the terror and memories

Are too much

Way too fucking much

Because now this hurts too,

The fear keeps your prisoner

Just as the pain did

And you can't take it

You won't take it

So you fly into a windshield

And now you aren't so pretty anymore

stillness a dew drop

mourn not the caterpillar

the butterfly lives

#haiku

#orhaikuish

#flutterby

#bysummer

They say we flit through windows

In the middle of the night

When the cobblers, thieves, and widows, 

Creep and weep by candlelight

They say we steal the butter

They made to wet their bread

They say it would be better

If all of us were dead

We churn our soil with poison

Into butter sow we salt

Their wings we take our joys in

A precious trophy of our faults

We were told

touching butterfly wings

would remove their dust,

their scales and

stop them

from flying. We

were told

swearing was

the quickest way to become

truck drivers: tobacco-thick lips,

eyes under-slept, red-vesseled and

road-fixed. We

were told

to hold onto, stay close to our imaginations like 

they are up there with all of the greatest things 

we can love, all the are greatest things we can

possibly imagine, and,

we were told

that if we cross our eyes for too long,

they would become permanently stuck looking

inward, even if we claim innocence, claim that we 

had a butterfly land on the bridge of our nose, and 

we were only 

trying

to keep gentle.

  Did you know? That when a butterfly

Flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle.

My house, here in Europe

Could be washed away by a storm.

Really!

In fact I saw it on a book cover

And I read it in the papers

Also at an exhibition in a gallery

Oh and in a philosophy blog.

And they are suckers for blood

Particularly at Halloween

So beware of butterflies

They are Draculas in disguise

Never kill them

Create wild flower patches

Smear garlic on your neck at night

Only then are you safe!

On April 15, 1865 John Wilkes Booth draws a pistol. He points it at the back of President Abraham Lincoln's head. 

A ghostly white butterfly flaps through the theater, lands on his pistol. 

He pauses... turns his head in bewilderment... 

There's no telling where the butterfly came from, or the chain of events that led to this butterfly, landing on this gun, at this time...

A Secret Service agent spots him, shoots several times, twice in the head. Lincoln walks from the assassination attempt unscathed.

The universe shifts to something parallel...

---

1946. Space.

The U.S.A. sends the first man to the moon with the help of their Russian comrades.

1958. The Great War begins...

Axis (China, India, Korea, Italy, Spain) take on Allies (Japan, England, Germany, France, Russia, and the U.S.A.)

1964. The Great War ends.

Quarter of the world dies off. Barely any young men left on the planet. Allies wins.

1982. Information Age.

Global prosperity. Each country(286) holds onto a nuclear missile as a token of peace.

1993. The Social Divide.

Automation stacks the majority of the world's wealth to the top 1%. People suffer. A global base income is established which alleviates unemployment strains. 

2011.  The League of Nations.

The L.N. is born, every major country on the planet joins. Worldwide nuclear disarmament is initiated.

2025. The Age of Oppression.

The L.N. is corrupt and abusive. Widespread surveillance and restriction of freedoms.

---

The President of the L.N. watches a holo-play in Central Park. The holographic actor's blue glow wraps around the trees, audience's attentive faces...

The play is called "Our American Brother" and the President's theater box hovers over the commoners below.

On the skyline behind him, a figure floats silently through the air with the aid of a grav pack. He pulls a large revolver, draws down on the President from above. 

A ghostly white butterfly flaps through the air... the President smiles, sticks out his finger and it lands on it.

"Ever thus to tyrants." The assassin whispers to himself, pulls the trigger.

Blue light tears through the back of the Presidents head. His agents turn and fire round after round into the assassin. 

The grav pack is hit, his body drifts downward in a gentle spiral...

the commoners below watch him fall slowly towards them.

Blood drips down on them as they gather round. There's a silence, a respect; he's killed their oppressor. They catch him, hold him before he touches Earth.

They watch him die in their hands... he fades away smiling.

Once fettered 

to leafy venues,

a milkweed menu

a leggy procession 

for each step taken

wandering munch

Now flitting

blown by breezes

blue and vast

for nectar cast

proboscis drawing

nourishing nectar

Delicate, lovely

on Odyssey

in company pass

folding stained glass

clinging to trees

like leaves

Back to the unknown

Home.