untaught magic and hormonal energy.
dirty work has been published twice (so far) in the pages of Bust magazine.
I feel something land on my shoulder. A butterfly … a Monarch.
It’s too late in the day for Monarchs.
the form of a small tornado.
aloud as a butterfly collides softly with my throat.
The insects are working together.
And an echo of satisfied laughter hanging in the air like a bell.