i can’t write anything
my brain won’t slow down to the point where any one thing
can come to clarity
in my consciousness

i’m standing in the middle of a field
butterflies all around my head
and i don’t know which one
i want to catch

i don’t really know if i want to catch any of them,
butterflies have already been through
one profound metamorphosis
and seem primed to turn into something else entirely
once they have been gathered by my net

even this,
(especially this)
seems terribly terribly stupid

demons come out of my floorboards at night
and laugh, that’s all they need to do

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 21st, 2006 at 8:49 pm and is filed under indiscriminate, poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.