I could give you a shovel
(or a shove)
and watch from my perch on the fence while you
wonder what to do with it.
After five or so
dust-rousing kicks through arid air,
you'd finally ask
and I'd say "Dig deeper."
because water never came from planting road signs
and even your muddy shallows have dried up.
I'd hope you wouldn't ask the question that comes after
(because you would)
because if you asked how deep to dig
I might accidentally say "Six feet."
and mean it.
YOU ARE READING
Crumpled Paper
PoetryCliche title? Maybe. It's just unorganized poems. Doesn't need anything fancier. Mostly very straightforward writes about mundane things. No mushy love poems, no dark broody poems. I write somewhere else so this is mostly gonna be an ease-of-refer...
