Sunday, June 02, 2013

2.760 : 6/2/07 : Wings

Faded shreds of
butterfly wings
shiver in holes
in the rocks
and you’d think
that in this place
a fellow could stop
counting clocks
the water comes
the water goes
erasing edges
by imperceptible intervals
I’m gloomy as the weather
projecting ahead
soon it will be memories
of lighthouses and waterfalls
I wonder if that butterfly
got lucky in the end
before he scattered on the wind
and lodged in some cold niche
I wonder if a lucky
number's out there for me
I feel like I’m entitled
but I know that life’s a bitch

what
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