I find him eating butterflies.
They’re beautiful, he says.
If I eat enough of them,
I’ll be beautiful too.
He stuffs a monarch in his mouth,
fuzz clinging to his lips.
I hear the flowers weep.
He begins to eat them too,
stray petals on his shoes.
A hummingbird arrives —
dips her bill into his eye,
takes a long, melancholy drink.
What to think — is he crazy,
or is he wise? Does beauty mind? Should I?
onsdag den 19. maj 2010
I Find Him Eating Butterflies
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2 comments:
Awesome. Good photo too.
Yeah ... I like to find good stuff on the 'net, especially when it relates to butterflies and/or death.
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