Shadow Selves

Today I was the

monarch

splashed across

the grill of a truck

readying the fire of

capitalism, going after

construction

and habitat

degradation.

i was also the last

moment

of its little life,

fluttering from flower

to street, eager to cross

into the territory

of a vacant river

with invisible

dangers

to get to those

glowing

purple flowers

gathering around

the base of a pole,

around a fence,

clustered

against the foundation,

slipping dreams

into the cracks

wedged open by roots

searching for something

like water or food or simple

nourishment.

it was pretty, wasn't it,

a butterfly

fluttering across

the river of

unpredictable

beasts that make no sound,

to get to those

little flowers,

to drink nectar

like a palm-sized deity

indulging in their old ways

before the altar of change.

it could've laid its eggs,

fucked and feasted,

dreamt and died

with its ten million eyes

gazing at the sky

with grass pressed

to its spine

as the soil welcomes

it home.

But it died

glued

to the grill of a

machine

watching the world

flash by in shapes

as it leaks purpose

into the engine bay.

i threw myself

in front of traffic,

let my bones crunch

underneath the wheels

of a dump truck

just to peel its

trembling wings

from the metal and lay it

down in the parkway

or at the very least

against the skin

of my chest

as i wither and die

like a dog

in the street.