from mouth to hand
write a poem
I can hardly see them
the strange night lights
are they bullshitting me?
my eyes?
my mouth, my hands?
that's for you to decide
who are you?
a reader, in my bedroom
or a million miles away
I can't tell
but anyway my thoughts
turn to things of the past
to jokes told and by some's measure failed
because they only made me laugh
which isn't so bad
I'm glad I have that power
though I wish I had more
