little silver
wind chimes with
crystal butterflies
dangling in
the quiet night

i hear the echoes
of every thought
the burs of spurned
declarations hang
a delirium of
inchoate rage
my clay pot skull
fractures as they
strike unrelenting

the moonlight catches
the delicate wings
refracting into a
myriad of frantic
tiny dancing spots

i am the reed in
a torrential gale
contorting myself
into awkward angles
bones snapping from
the merciless wind
unintended consequences
tearing ligaments
broken yet enduring

the tinkle of the
hollow silver chimes
makes the butterflies
jerk spasmodically
to the dirgeful tones