the butterfly bitch part 3…

the bitch strikes back”

i know i passed it over to you; i got
one hand holdin’ the phone
the other wrapped around a cigarette.

so before this phone starts ringing
& the new party gets busted up,
shove it to the floor & keep it going.
sheeeit, i’ve said “fuck it” before but
that doesn’t change how badly i

all through the lazy days in the land
of the busted hour and on and on;
feeling like this can’t be legal
(i assure you, it’s legal, for now,
until lawyers & politicians & bankers
fuck it up for the rest of us
once again.)
until then, shove it to the floor;
grind your heart right out.

smells like a museum in here.
i’m lookin’ up; not much
else to do. we long ago passed
any point of exclaiming
“this is the day we discovered
what ‘Industrial Revolution’ really means!”

now my phone is vibrating & this party ‘s dead;
before i can see a name i can hear a voice:
which one are you?


As part of the community valued themes of the as of yet acclaimed Butterfly Bitch series, this is dedicated to that one afternoon about a decade ago when I said “I’m going out” and to my surprise solved an intractable problem with an improbable solution.

(ed. note; Can you dedicate a poem to yourself? Is that allowed? Who regulates questions like that? Fuck it, not like anyone is gonna say anything. Right?)

2 Responses to “the butterfly bitch part 3…”

  1. I think I dedicate most of my poems to myself. Maybe that’s self-centered, I’m not sure. But it keeps a level of honesty and integrity in the work. I like your honesty in this one. Thanks for posting.

  2. Most welcome, & thanks for the compliments. Let us always dedicate to ourselves, cause fuck it, we are the poets.

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