Soaked Butterfly - Dec. 14, 2022

without a subject a poet is grounded

like a butterfly with wet wings

and whines and whimpers

won’t change the gravity

of the situation hidden flowers

don’t wait to wrinkle and die

but there are buds everywhere

even more that are pre-formed

and tons of buds still invisible

sitting inside stems like premonitions

and those that wait in seeds

just hopeful promises

hoping for rain to sprout and

the sun to pull them out

so why worry

about a dry spell

in wet weather

or wings or flowers

or anything

poets will always find

nectar in life

get shamelessly drunk

and never stop

wanting more