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.

Go to Top