I cleaned the vaccum,

So blocked up that it couldn’t

Help but whine and whirrr.

Fuzzballs and hairballs,

Paperclips and some pushpins…

Now it really sucks.

the sun blinked
between the beams of
the bridge as i
drove back thinking:

this feels less like home
than your arms.

I try to write a poem
and end up staring at the screen
focusing on the doctor or pretty much anything
wondering why the words won’t come,
where they have gone,
who has taken my words,
and who never will.

if comets could talk
i imagine they’d have a lot to say
about dreams of falling
about the horrors of fire
and about death

huge heaps of extra
terrestrial molten rock
flung from the slingshot
of that great milky galaxy
hurled towards the smallest
rock they could find
hoping damage in numbers can
be done.

hoping, praying, that they
the comet
still have the power of life
of death
to completely wipe out

because we have taken it
with our fossil fuels

now we can cause
extinct