Leave the butterflies outside of your stomach.
Let them flutter and float in the gentle breeze.
Earlier on my stomach walled them up inside,
Not just with one wall, but with wall upon wall.
Each wall, fabricated from illusory restriction;
Painful, as one illusion layered upon another.
The butterflies batted about wildly, crowded in.
Space too narrow, they crashed and thrashed.
A truth surfaced and circumcised off one layer.
A second truth emerged, pulling back another.
Illusions dissipated and my butterflies set free.
Don't they look so much better in the breeze?
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