poems.

Finding a bit
of stuff in a carpet.
Sometimes they are hard,
with pokie edges,
others or not.
Long like hair
thin like paper,
or crumbly like…
who knows?
But anyways, always,
they are tiny.

Then, well, I think,
you know what happens next.
The thing gets dropped
back and lost,
and maybe,
the vacuum picks it up.
Next week.


Laying in the grass
one eye submerged in the green
sheets that seem so huge
and I expect to see some
kind of rad crawling creature.
But, there’s nothing.
Nothing neat like that,
just bright green, deep cool
shadows and damp dirt.
Well, I’m sure you already
know because you’ve
seen it before.
It’s not a big deal,
but I enjoy it
I’d like to see it more.