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2022-04-28T09:34:06-07:00July 18th, 2012|Creativity|

Ode to lint

Poetry is less about writing
and more about looking
at lint until it opens
its foggy mouth and says

I am a grey wig
made for a beetle

but you don’t stop there,
if you wait a little longer
it will be a nest
a hairnet
a lima bean
made of snow

until eventually
you merge with the lint
just like the yogis promised
and there you are,
all of it,
in all possible places
at once.

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