Butterfly

My poems:

1967/68
Butterfly. To Elaine Clarke.(written on co-op shop footwear paperbag-where I worked, (for a couple of months – before hitch-hiking around Britain), whenI was 18 years of age.
– she: worked opposite the co-op, in Lloyds bank).

1).
Flapping in her cage,
Splinters her wings on the bars,
Butterfly, panics.

But to no avail

All is dark
She pants, breaths, dying
No-sun.

2).
Because the world
Is not as I see it?
Or because the world
Is as dried fruit see it?

Mysterious, unknown things
Within yonder Lloyds bank prison.

I can see through its walls
I can see a butterfly,
Crushed
With broken, white wings
Pinned
To an adding machine.

3).
If I were more than
What I am
I would smash those walls
And
That butterfly would
Heal in the sun’s light
And fly away.

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