chopping block

abalone-shell wings cast splintered rainbows as they flutter uncontrollably/don’t bother to record the morse code/jagged metal whistles through the air/sings past needle-pricked skin/you wonder, can butterflies feel pain?/or do they find half-rimmed contentment in apathy and ignorance?/mechanical whirring of iridescent wings/turns unsteady and faint/how similar it sounds to jaundiced breaths/is there a point when desperate voices stop crying for help?/the tsunami of pity threatens to break past your stone dam/so weak, so small, so insignificant/glimmering jewels no longer glint in the sun/they ring opaque and hollow in your eardrums/aim for the abdomen so you can preserve the wings/useless, but once pretty, between pages of mildewed journals/and pretend you don’t hear/the thud of the knife.