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.
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