There are a 100 butterflies out of sorts in what’s wrong watching even one or two spin like mediums,
happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.
The collapse of spinning it better is.. no, the aim changed while functions bounced.

*

We can build something better.
You can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun,
seething too, proportionate to the open space.
The smoke is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified by the ozone.
The whole firebox glow that yellow
wallpaper engages on. Yellow for pleasure
for the butterflies.