Religious pamphlets on a winter day

I'm sure you've seen them:
stacked flat religious pamphlets
like glossy butterflies neatly arranged
on a makeshift table
in the midst of a frozen cotton-like winter day.

Have you noticed them?
On one wing,
a bleeding heart stabbed by thorns burns in the wind
on the other,
a cursive whip shapes the words "HE died for you"

People also tattoo these things.

Those pamphlets, they cost nothing,
but they make me itchy, they make me watch my ticking wrist
and polish my impoliteness with a carefully sketched pearly grin.
That is, when the voices of the lord, like talking statues
annoyingly insist "I" take one.

And they start to sing about Jezus.

Those glossy butterflies, if they ever perch on my hands
they eventually end up crushed like paper meatballs.
I heard they make excellent food
for hungry domesticated dragons.

A hungry domesticated dragon or a fireplace...
I wished I owned either one of them. But I don't.
Which is one of the reasons
why I avoid tattooed butterflies.

You see, it's not easy to keep up the pace
of those paved, fast treadmills they call streets
and feel a fossil's heartbeat and cursive whip
become alive and curse inside my pocket
like a crushed meatball in the rush of a frozen cotton day.