Butterfly Man

He never says anything, but it is apparent to all that he is wise. They call him Holy Butterfly Man. He is beautiful, but humble, it is apparent to all. People come from far away to ask. But he doesn’t say a thing. He is wise. He collects butterflies. Hands back the blank piece of paper, in answer to every question. Then he nods off in deep contemplation. He farts excessively. For hours a vigil is held - fart smells are filling the room - but the watch is held. He could wake up again soon. Clouds of smell are bottled like holy water. They are exported. He had once been beautiful, but now he is curling up. He had been light in spirit, with wings, his clothing colourful. Now his skin is turning green, flabby, and hangs from his bones. His neck disappears. The blankets wrap him in a cocoon. He is fat. He has become a caterpillar. With his every wink and nod, advice is still taken. He doesn’t say anything. He never asked for anything.