Dream Song 330: I No Longer See the Beauty of Butterflies

A Poem by Anon ymous

Love is a great punishment for desire. (Anne Enright)

Agent Orange kills everything beautiful, even love. (Unknown)

We were sinless and uninterrupted [me, high hat handed; feathered
and full], [you, shiny; looking all dynamite wrapped in a summer
coat in the middle of February] you kissed me kissed me but never

said goodbye. I sit; testified and hungry, watch every [one] thing
fall: the wasted and the wan, the soundless and thin, the deserved
and the unearthed; the fortunate, unready and unfiltered: ashes,

ashes [we’re all messed up]. The sky is ordinary; we are untogether
and wanting. Your window faces east, I remember paper butterflies
[blue, green, red] on a string; mine is blank and frosted; directionless.

The butterflies dead. The bees dead. Monsanto kills everything.

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