Quite often, I write things of this nature in my journal. They make me happy.
A cement pond, minus the water,
saw the expiration of a fragile moment.
The distant moon troubled a tooth,
which wiggled and desired freedom.
My phone rang out a rebellion,
but the timestamp was inaccurate.
A bird had a dream that it died en route
to a warmer clime and woke mute.
The circle asked the teacher “Why?”
and the teacher grew a dirty mouth.
Dust conspired with wisdom to figure
out socks but they wasted their time.
The cat edged up to a dying star
and offered a whispered prayer.