Butterflies play with your eyebrows

This is one of the butterflies that plays with your eyebrows.
Photo by Boris Smokrovic on Unsplash
Weirdo, I know what you're thinking,
when butterflies play with your eyebrows.
You think it excusable to have them
do so. I tell you that it is
so tell the butterflies go for it.

It is afternoon sometime in Paris.
I hear it's a cool city,
but I don't know. My mind
is now dedicated to another location,
within walking distance of the train el
and the rhythmic thumping
of passing hours.

I'll light a lantern and venture
to the woods, barely seeing the traces
of monster faces when my eyes are closed,
but i am in the land of bricks and concrete
when conscious.

Nature is still indeed my nature,
the scraping on leaves against
street also natural,
created by someone like I,
created by someone of nature.

Take me, the dull street creature,
seeing the shiny teals and purples
of mine subtler.

I want you to take me
to the sewer to the stink
of this planet. It helps me to live
to see the clothing hung out on lines,
it helps me live
to hear glass breaking,
though the crack brings
to sight exploding
the place I heard the gunshot.  

 

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