I don’t play 
pick me up 
whether it be 
friends or lovers 
or pieces of 
things I leave 
things where they 
are have fallen 
or run to
I go get 
and move on 
leaving them behind 
my present is
the only place 
to be found 

Let me be 
a thimble of 
yours guarding fingers
from the pokes 
and pointy parts
of life whilst
you darn those 
damn holes of
time worn through 
nary a blemish
or blot seen
it does seem 
once you’re done 

Late start 
took time 
to sleep 
dreams begged
me to
please stay
they said 
to me
I have 
more to
tell you 
and there
we met

I’m looking for 
the picture to
my frame the
letter to my 
envelope the parcel 
to my post 
the coffee to
my cup I’m 
looking for that 
which changes me 
from painting to 
art from paper
to memory from 
package to gift 
and from emptiness 
to warmly filled 

Things end
lives jobs
seasons love 
most people 
inquire how 
so as
to what 
avoid the 
same hole 
that I
fell into 
holes are
never holes 
until at
last they 
sadly are