“Don’t Try.”


Alluring caterpillars
Crumple and stretch their fuzzy bodies
Like accordions,
And dance
The painted concrete
Of abandoned discos.

And this isn’t vandalism
It’s neon.

And a passing wrinkle
Flaps his lips:
“Things of beauty are never forced.”

The caterpillars build cocoons.

I say:
“Bullshit. Beauty is imagined.”

We play with words for a bit.
His a little more courageous.
Mine a little more whoreish.

But both
Not sure if wisdom, or truth
In our dialogue playground.

“People just like to be heard.”
I say.

The wrinkle flattens,
Turns down his hearing aide.

The cocoon breaks.

I whisper lies,
To prove my point.

They float away.

Quiet as the monarch’s
First flight.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s