by..
lily´s sigh
ephemeral

(beryl the peril
style)
paul-

you say science explains
the complex simple
and poetry makes

the simple complex?
what is yours
is yours

and what is mine
is mine
and all..

(where did that packet
of papers get to..?)
ay there is so much

blurb
best not think too
much

try be merciful
and love
not as simple

as science or
poetry
look what they

done to us
painbirds
o cry butterfly..

i

nature was near
a flower
a star

we new our
place
god was great

an insect
was an insect
our selves

there was order
life was brief
a butterfly flew..

ii

i

some one at the
door-paul dirac (back
for more!)

here, i return your
book, lily,
love is a dog from hell

(by charles bukowski)
nice hair cut, paul!
ya!who the hell is

tom jones?!ha!
you want tea?
coffee..

water..merci..
take a pew
what?

ii

assez-vous!?
hows the math
coming along?

ah slowly?!
-pick a flower on earth
and you move the furthest

star-exactly..!
what do you think to
bukowski?

a testament to the
durability of
man or

mad
and sad
(who would n´t..

be..)
well he had energy
and not all bad..

iii

what do you read
lily?
lark rise to candleford


by flora thompson-
rural life in england
(circa. 1850..)

simultaneously horrifying
and charming
part biography

-look that butterfly is
back-
children as slaves

courting customs
fashion
conditioning

no cars
hell and heaven
superstition

you had to tell
the bees
that the master died..

lark rise, a hamlet,
candleford,
a village..

an odyssey
and a way that´s
dissapeared..

iv

(here is your
water
merci..)

poverty
not much mercy
the richest country

in the world
a penny a fortune
no-one is bored..

why is it all
underlined in red
again

some wicked portent
a ******
stain

lily does her toes
and blows
i don´t know-

ii

why is all
i do deemed
worthless

well at least you
have
been on the radio

and you have a
book
yes but

fame and fortune
are not what
they

are cracked up to
be
thats why

rehab is so
popular-
nothing depresses

like
success
spoken like a

true wannabe
lily sighs
a big house

is to get lost
in..
a knock

at the door
were in the
garden!?!

o lord
were in the
garden!?!

iii

(*** says lily..)
prompts a small cloud to cover
the sun

a shadow or frown
to juxtapose (el mariposa?!)
-what do you think it makes of us?

it doesn´t seem bothered..
would we trade places
i think it would stay as it is..

iv

when young
i was cursed by
fish

ants and the breeze
(or was it only my
paranoia)

my fortune
i did n´t care
as for fame

v

a lady asked me
if i was me
(i thought i

better be..)
she said santiago has
a nice hospitable

(ryan air)..
she took me to
her hotel
an old monastery

i have the key
accidently
it rained..

i

why do we like butterflies?
for their colours
and their silence

covering with dust-
flight of a higgledy-piggledy muse
a lost youth-

tattooed on the shoulder
from flower to flower
yet resilient

a peacock
a cabbage white
free and aloof-

aplomb!
a song-
ding-****..

ii

she goes back to her book,
what is she reading?
metamorphosis-kafka..

i retire to the sky,
where all them little squiggles
are doing their thing..

lily musters her thoughts-
imagine waking up a giant insect
only the cleaning lady can cope

(sounds familiar
i read a novella by phillip roth
in which an individual

wakes up a breast!
it was too distressing
to finish..)

a mad man thinks every one
is mad
and i must admit lily
i fit the bill exactly
(quietly,
not for me
a traffic cone upon
the noggin
screaming and shouting
with finger pointed-no)..

i see the futility
(i maybe napolean but
who do i think i am?!)
i would say that-
what of reality?

lily says is nt that for
which dance and poetry
is for-look!
an effing butterfly..?!