I have feathers in my bedroom
Someone must have just
dropped in.
So I am looking here and there.
On second thought maybe
it was just the wind

Vladmir came home
from work one day
and said ” I think I have the flu”
His wife said “Are you sure?”
“Maybe you have the Bulbonic Plague
or even Mayflower Pilgrims Scurvy too.”
He replied with a bit of increasing delirium
“You know I think that is Genetic, so seeing as
I am a Vladmir, I don’t think I do.”
“The Bulbonic Plague is quite Middle Ages impossible
And every morning I eat buttered toast and garlic with a cup of tea and lemon
so that makes the  thought of Mayflower Pilgrims Scurvy pretty remote too”
No, I think I will go lie down and not wake up dead with Dracularian flies
flying around my head because all I think I have is the flu.”
So keeping his mouth shut he went to bed
And nothing more was said
Because all he had was the flu.

Lefty the left-footed centipede
left the left foot store
he had so many shoes
he could not buy anymore

And those are my thoughts
on centipedes.

Thank for thinking that perhaps
this might be any deeper than deep
Because it just isn’t

If we are writers
do we write what
we see what we feel
deep inside
when we write
can we make others
feel as we do
what we feel inside
can we have them
wondering what is coming next
around the bend
as they follow along
do we paint a picture
with our pen
do we have people wondering
what happens next and
when they do
are they still wanting
to turn
the page
read
what we write

day after day

if so

then we do