a murder of certain status quos

the edges of the butterfly’s wings fray themselves

pulls bottom eyelid towards bottom lip

strip of pinkened apathy reveals itself as

desirable, flocking towards the nearest broken branch

says that nature is its own devil

snap / bisects in minced syllables

lamants in unworthy / grace

this one weeps in the folds of reiteration

self-preservation hangs from the throes of elegance

kneecap skips and jumps to conclusions

making excuses / self righteousness

finger bends the wrong way

reunites with the half-lidded knuckle

licking an airplane runway down the side of God’s sweaty temple

mind running high off of idealized appreciations

a palm of stretched grape skin

nests itself into a shell of wet eardrum

expands until bursting / protection against

justice, disturbing the nature of things

and the way things contort

do you pretend do you pretend the disruption of the status quo

that such things are

admirable?

do you pretend do you pretend do you pretend that

you are better than

criminals?