its weird where i see poetry these days.  like…theres a better way to say it than that.  but im always shocked to see poetry in a bucket of bone colored paint or in a mess around a dumpster or in the dryer lint.  i see it in your avoidance and in the jokes i’ve learned to make. i see it in scuffed boots and missing keys on a keyboard.  i still see it in celestial beings.  i still see it in the face of everyone i talk to.  but now i see it everywhere and its almost overwhelming but at the same time i’m glad.  because even the ******* things can be okay if you look at them right.