Mess

Rip the wings off of a butterfly
and make a stained glass mess
on all your finger tips
below these power lines
where everything is leaving.
Let the vodka in her crystal glass
distract you from the angel paintings
everywhere; all looking down
and holding in the sound.
Watch the moss grow on
the cellphone tower
birds live in by pecking
through the metal.
A generation of broken beaks
no longer sleep in silhouettes
along the wires back lit brightly
by the sunset.
Daylight through the shades
of the apartment above
the liquor store that had a line
around the corner through
the alley.
If you have to walk
become part of the scenery
like all these figures
with their hoods up
breathing heavy
on the bridges looking over.
One of them is searching
for a place to sleep,
and finds a photo
on the concrete somewhere
scratched like it was lost
somehow, forgotten.
He takes it in and tears it up
so no one ever sees it
then watches koi swim
in their sanctuary while
thin ice splits at the surface
from the moonlight.

2 thoughts on “Mess

  1. Pingback: Mess | Best Blog

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