Chaos and the Butterfly

Chaos

grows like a forest

around my life;

the path leads down to death.

But whether I speed up

to pass the jerk,

or slow down

because I know that cop hides here,

the butterfly still flits

unknowingly, inexorably,

towards my radiator grill.

And so what

if it’s all coincidence,

or serendipity?

As I lay down at last, at home,

my corrupting body

cries out from every cell,

"It is beautiful!",

and softly repeats,

"It is beautiful."