Butt’ is it Art

Emerging from

decades long

cocoon,

Butter ripped anticipated

wings

–on unanticipated observer

and

Tattered,

Battered

–a forcibly excreted

bi-product—

Butter couldn’t fly

Bits of purgatoried past

sticking to

velvet,

and brand new hell, besides,

Butter couldn’t

even be

a drone.

Fluttering,

Flapping,

Butter tried

taking off…

over

&

over

&

over

–realizing

(too late)

it was

over.

Over for Butter,

Butter melted down

–a stain where

promise once dwelt…

–a greasespot

before

her time.