Poems written on blue paper gas station towels, empty envelopes from bill collectors who can only wish for a payment.

Moments in a life to precious to loose in the search of proper paraphernalia.

A bit of a tear, a piece of a smile stuffed in drawers, in pockets, in books to be washed or crumbled and tossed into the left over eggs from yesterday breakfast and the brown, hardened

gravy that the cat wouldn't eat.