Butterfly Teardrops, Moth Sobs

Time, memory, half-eaten through,

with American flags,

butterflies when you’re twelve

A cockroach crawling across your face, waking you up

between 2 and 4 am

Hearing the roach a week later–sounds bigger.

That won’t work.

Hopes pinned to lottery tickets like a

scrapbook of the future.

Neither will that.

“There should be a sign on the border of sev-

eral cities that says, ‘This

one doesn’t work either.'”

Cleaned the whole house while crying,

mixed and switched

butterfly teardrops,

moth sobs.


This entry was published on October 25, 2012 at 23:32. It’s filed under Painting/Visual, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

4 thoughts on “Butterfly Teardrops, Moth Sobs

  1. Exquisite writing, Eric

  2. This is achingly beautiful, Eric.

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