the lives of those we held so dear bled away like the memories of those days we spent out in the woods with heads full of chemical storms and chimerical visions. but life dawdles onward, like a stranger passing through my yard, taking a short-cut to the seven-eleven on the other side of the forest and clifton road.
oh well, i said, spreading the butterfly's wings taut and holding her to the sunlight so that her wings looked like intricate tapestries woven of thin silk as they filtered the bright light of the star that brings us warmth and day, not to mention an orbit (that's a stupid phrase to use in soliloquy).
what a horrible thing, i thought, if one was to tear her poor wings to confetti and release the pieces in the wind while her stick-like body fell to the ground. such a delicate thing . . . this butterfly held up to Our Star. i let her go whole and she fluttered off erratically and i watched her go, thinking about the world and all the sick possibilities that it makes us consider.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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