in defense of naivety

like the passage of butterflies
     a singular notion
          plural by design
because sense is senseless
     trapped in a sense of sense



     scion of sense
     grasping at straws


                    but it's oh so fucking beautiful as it all falls apart
as it was always meant to ...

     so intricate...
     so delicate...
          but only for a moment somewhere,
                                   somewhen

               butterfly wings pressed under wax in a book
     illusion of stillness while breath still flutters yet
                     millions of years later
                  wrecking havoc on ecosystems yet to be born


a finger dipped into flotsam to twirl in the eddies
     no action without repurcussion
innocense only serves to still the guilt