nearly a year,
and there’s still butterflies,
a farm,
a reserve,
an aquarium,
a zoo,
the whole ****** animal kingdom,
released in
my heart,
making it beat,
from the stampede;
my stomach,
twisting it into knots,
from the innate wildness;
my lungs,
removing all the air,
from the murders upon
mobs upon
gackles upon
schools upon
herds.

how pathetic.