Poem: 'The Butterfly That Stamped' by Sean Bw Parker

'Men of Dartmoor E-Wing, Christmas 2019' by Sean Bw Parker

The Butterfly That Stamped

Some look for tragedy to make themselves feel better

Letters sealed with bone cement; your changes will not be saved

As another’s depraved fame dements the home, peeling bells

The Catholic girls ring through the night and off the phone

Dripping poison into their DMs, the Industrial Light & Magic

Of the Vulgarian Front visits often

Tragic and implicit in celestial brightness

The blunted and twisted progress of the pretty and neurotic

Rides the day beneath the blood rain from the Sahara

As flood plains slide away along the sclerotic muscle

Of the valley, cold fists of ingress shunted into the sea

The hitman for the nudge squad reports without judgement

On canonical twats, revered forever by contemporaries

Paid off by exemplary creditors, severed by encrochats

Barons fudging the accounts, fakes exported by binmen

Enterprising in the evening gloom, the pleas of tragedy whispered

Among the refuse, the stamping butterfly frozen and grey

Waxwings trapped in a mirrored bathroom

In a cement that was once sand, back in the day.

By Sean Bw Parker

March 2026