shiny things in messy little piles

Category: Poetry

My Life As Your Car Keys

My Life as Your Car Keys
You felt in your pocket
	I wasn’t there
You checked your coat
	I wasn’t there
You asked the guy next to you
	I had been in the corner
You asked the girl in the corner
	I had been in someone else’s hand 

In Autumn

yellow moon
amber mum
question of bridges that go nowhere
smell of paper, hot out of the printer
something golden that 
was alive just yesterday
but today smells newly, richly dead.

First pub­lished in Door is a Jar