Nicky

The one I passed by like autumn breeze is a mightily white wing of a butterfly on its dusty, dusty way I passed by and-oh, worshipful-was still moved even if never nearer, a ten-thousandth of a degree nearer than I was And even if the thumps and drone of all the empty heartless were a thousandth of a degree smaller--it'd still be something If we think about it it never lessens and is always named mighty, this little heartless Nicky of a wing, but this mighty flutter and all is as real as me, striving to be, if we look at it, a poor misunderstood Nicky of a thing Yes, the dusty wing to your own gaddy and fleshy "you" is how it is, and not some gluttonous squirrel turning a little green world in its claws, a sputtering, ravenous pig that eats & squirts, eats and squirts

(2015)