“Birch Butterfly”
In the indifferent ages
life through a jacket ring monocle;
the one resting over
cigarette butts & steams
papers & shattered pieces
from bottles & dreams.
The one melting to silver
& flowing under
rubber
steps, bodies
& thoughts
‘till the disruption by
a baton or some spare change
metal both.
The one, the bum
the one decorated for
bravery & some powder
in the chest, somewhere
near his soul…
Behind the ring
The Birch Butterfly
Paces w/in
The limits of a Bight
vast & void, almost
nameless…
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