butterflies

they are burning books again.

phantom hose expels a fiery stream
whose hot bright mouth
gorges on a mass of spines;
paper crackles,
shoots sparks,
writhes and contorts.
ash rises with smoke to treetops.

books are mirrors:
they reflect the light coming from you
and the darkness, too.
some people don’t care for such a reflection.
they’d rather see it devoured.

ribbons of flames tighten.

but hush…
don’t worry what those nasty volumes say.
see the pretty butterflies,
see their wings blacken and blister.

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© 2023 nessa jasper