Eh, I don't know. Feedback mucho appreciated.
butterface—
a new life from your pod.
Use it well.
Slippery green train you were
among twigs and
broken
dying
carriages
all strung by the hairs on your wigs.
Cocoon in limbo dangling a corpse down
a pod of all
a hopeful sod
in wires all bubbling around your test tube.
(A second. Black lips release you in a
b-b-burst of potential,
could be anything—)
Now fresh—
bottles of thunderclouds
a spine to hold you together
with the leftover sky right by
in two silk
winking
wings at my face
as if I were only waiting.
