There Is A Flutter Of Noise In My Head Angels pop like fireflies around me. I want to extract my soul. This parasite on flesh needs a new shape, a suggestion like water in a balloon, a moth bursting from its cocoon. This imagination opens a thousand butterfly wings, lifts a body upward into a parabola of color and light. If I could hold any of it in my bare hands, I'd feel the arrogance of passion, see its heat burn the moths of thought, and perhaps, even if for just a second, understand what it is. |
