Blue sky
crisscrossed

with
chemtrails

the first butterfly
of the season

and a lawnmower
gasping

for that last
bit of gas

point

you ask

point is something
usually lead

and almost always
on the end of a pencil

Yes

I found your journal
deep

in the attic
the black one

with a gold lock
I pried open

but
what I wonder

is

do I dare
try and decipher

your hen scratches

I guess the bigger question
do I dare

disturb the universe

Gleaming
white it shines in the cold sun

of this early Spring day
with the corrugated door

rolled up
the uniformed driver

dollying packages
down the silver ramp

a Fed Ex truck
parked outside my window

I'm staring

at a blue bottle
with bubbles

in the wavy glass
that is as thick as

thick

the world ends
when we have no more

metaphors
and similes

to describe it

Some say the TeCh#
is not what it should be -

and they might be right

                                    but w/o

hELL0      pOEtry

weLL (I don't want to speculate)

All I want T@ saY is that
this sight and all my friendS on iT!

MEAN more
                                     to ME

Than you WIll EvER

Know!!!!!!

In his              
plaid sport coat

pulling tissues
from his paper sack head

flinging them

slinging
bathroom jokes

cackling
jigging

a comedic
unknown soldier

known only
to God

Mood swings
no

see saws
maybe

but definitely
not monkey bars

and what does it matter
anyway

you don't write
or call

I get it though

you're too busy
but aren't we all