all my stones

are praying amen

to the lost winds

that never played together

the tears of the fire hydrant

spit at the red light

and the yellow caution

me against my go-go

this spring the flowers

are over dressed

and some little boy

is waving a flag of toad stools

catch me if I got

it wrong

the birds are using discarded

plastic to build their homes

wild grass is growing from

the squirrel's under belly

and when I have the time

I will be picking at the

of my black skin

digging a hole to let you in

blow the nose of my pet pea

my pet butterfly named

Charlie then go home

from this poem.