how to write a psalm about butterflies,
to attract you with pretty words
that restrain themselves,
your intake is only oxygen
that has been blessed by winged creatures,
and you inhale, fluttering mysteries
down into your lungs like frozen magma;
a more approachable version
of that under-the-surface-stuff,
this is your weather that i wish to be a part of,
your wind current, your occluded front,
your climate,
your affection for tiny wings...

but i can't be that pretty,
i don't belong in a salvador dali painting,
my intake is that of air
caressed by other beasts,
and left for me to filter, poisonous
through my lungs;
which expand and contract minutely
like inverted wings of my own
spread wide as my inner cavities will allow;
my sinkhole, my cavernous geology,
my interior dissolved,
my holes within, structured
by the affection of my bronchiole wings.

07/10/2005

Posted on 07/10/2005
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