The Butterfly’s Direction

5 09 2010

The butterfly flies through the field And around a flower.

Above the grass and below the swing.

The butterfly flies in to a cave And out of a tower.

Over a mountain and under a wing.

The butterfly flies behind a bird And in front of a moth.

To the right of a man and the left of a beast.

The butterfly flies to a net And away from a cloth.

Outside of transformation and inside a feast.

The butterfly flies forward in fear And backwards in style.

Adjacent to itself and distant to others.

The butterfly flies up to the heavens And down to denial.

Resistant to fathers and conclusive with mothers.

The butterfly will fly Without knowing why.



8 06 2010

Look inside yourself.  The world seems smaller.

The beat of your heart rythmns the rise and fall of the sun.

The day ends at the very least.  No one is on the other side.

No color to resemble a better life dyed into the grains.

Louder and louder it becomes.  A ripple in the water.

Flows away from your setting beyond the horizon.

We stand on the shore.  Our feet in the sand.

The color of the grain seems to cover our soles.

We cannot walk sideways.  Only towards the end.

For what it’s worth we will always be remembered.


10 04 2010


10 04 2010


23 03 2010

Sitting up in the air as the wind begins to weigh me down.  I feel weak and the presence of death is all around.

A greater incumbent for prejudice thoughts, hardens the tools aligned along the wars we fought.

There is no time to allow for such temperish acts.  There are only moments within the times of a collapsing past.

We struggle to stay afloat, struggle to breath.  But no struggle can leave us without peace.

Slowly I fall back to the ground I have known.  Back to the world in which I have grown.

The sight has appeared to me differently.  Grass is not grass and trees are not trees.

I take up a flower which I hold to my nose.  The smell is not there as my nature would pose.

I am unfamiliar in familiar world.  Unaddressed by the oyster and what it has pearled.

A collection of thoughts and old memories.  I look to the sky to find what it has taken from me.

I was better up there, in the air with no wind.  I reach for the clouds to return again.

I find I am here, with no where to go but down.  I feel weak and the presence of death is all around.


3 03 2010

With a spectacular view you can see almost anything.

From skies to seas to roads and trees, there lies almost a song to sing.

With words formed from a rolling projector, onto a sheet as images reflect her.

No more silence to encourage, or honesty to disparage.

There is only a standing ovation with no motivation except for the images recorded for storage.

We are alone.  We are distill.  We will atone.  We will fulfill.

There is no doubt that we will stand out and honor the past with a rigorous bout.

We will fight.  We are wrong.

When the crowd is too few, there is no one new.  All we can do is enjoy the view.

Dear Gravity,

27 12 2009

It seems that you have found a way to keep me grounded.  It is with no doubt that I will remain occupied in this space.  I can jump as high as I can, yet you pull me back to the surface.  To be free from your constraints would be not to fly, as birds fly and are still restricted by gravity, but to give way.  Give way to all that is understood for us.  Give way to the idea that we can not fully understand your theoretical behavior.  Give way to the illusiveness of your presence and to be confined in all that is defined.  We are not merely subjects to your grasp, but the subject of your verse.  To release us would be to destroy your very existence and we shall not be free.  For what we fear is too loose our footing because we are not designed for such flight.  You have defined the parameters and we have defined ourselves in it.  A draft may find its way into my room and chill the very air I breathe.  A beam of light may reflect through my window and warm the air I devour.  But there is no change in my stance.  There is no change in my footing.  I stand where I stand and I can not fall onto the reflection of the light or the icing of the air.  No breath can faint away until it has forged an absolute allegiance to your control.  Without this conviction you can not let these people go.  To fly or to float, to coast or to soar, it is all inevitable.  Your extinction will come.  And as we await ours, we will see that there is nothing to be scared of as we are all part of an inhibited cycle developed through control.  Those with the control create the parameters and destroy them.