Time's butterflies

History conceived

Spun up tight in threads of nylon
t-shirt, inwardly the sleepers with intent,
their silent, breathing thoughts begin to flap.

Conspirators of colour and lapping wings that
shave the grain of oaken consciousness.

They claw through waxy residue
Of mundane planets: drowning,
Ticking memories,

The worms bite through, velveteen transfigured beings
Casting moulds of wooden dreams unborn



Birth

Stabbing questioning his consciousness,
Born on crimson lashes, opening and
Biting the unsightly numerals on Mother Apathy's
Neglecting face

Drums race at the monarch, the crowning of
a dream, shaking, shivering blankets flutter
Over restless feet
Inquest paper shards,
stain glass suspicions, hissing, spattering mandrake wings
Across the bloodied floor


Flight


Flap - pieces of paint-by-number oil
Sprung from canvass colonies
Seeding awe-bound privilege
Behind the seer's heart

Flight - prayer flags, thread
Fingers hide and seek through air, and
Hanging colour on the core of beings
Lashes, mouths and boxes wide



Rest


Hold and still
The rushing, flicker-panic
Chasing, 
Flitting soot upon the firefly’s wake


Hold and still and
Stop the wings,
Slow, breath, like ribcages, spread
Apart, bellows watching slow together
Rumoured orchestras resting under veiled pupils.
And time, soft as rosin-dust descends on tables under mighty swinging bows.