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little things
the ant considered
speck of …
something too small to
mention
not the main event
you can brush it off
grace notes in
a serenade for
least things are towards a
silence
web you’d not notice
walk through
a stillness
air full of mandarin spray
little thing like the luck
of the draw
the short straw
the cyanide capsule
hearsay
pay no attention
little itch
tiniest pain
an ache is smaller than I am
little tight this fit
a tantrum gone to where
they’re from
at a pinch
by a head
and on wings less than
looking
slap
a little blood consigned
a little light let in
your smile
these eyes
a cell the wrong way
pointed
in crossed out words
thought better of
in verses no one reads
tomorrow is a little thing
and yesterday was less
toy tossed in the fire
the last lipped word
and no one knew
a tiny spot
who’d ever find?
wand, its tip
and something dipped
blade of grass grows in the
door
it wasn’t the mice
it wasn’t their fleas
this microbe took the
kingdom out
just a kind word then
just a little saying
town so far from
it’s falling down
buried in the map this much
X marks the place
but worn away by fingernail
and tooth fell too
a little sugar for your tea?
a dram
or just a drop?
the delicate paw
placed over the cup
the thousand years
in which nothing at all
only a stitch in time
square of blotting paper
and another world comes on
think only of our toes
the womb-free creature
speechless yet
so lately egg and swim
what a fuss we make
my little bliss
you are
and tiny howl
just a thought it’s nothing
and in a teacup fortunes founder
each drop from the tap
its own view
take Blake’s grain of sand
there is the picture in
little
tent in a wilderness of
height
our climb
we’re the ant again
hips of the after-rose
unsteady?
how?
a little
taste my pint-sized brew
take this and choke it down
the pride before
a lion’s eyes are little
tip of the tongue
all wait on
bottom drawer, back of
oh it’s, not it’s…
I shouldn’t mention
thing I made up
little off the back and sides
smidge off the top
a tad, a chot
bottom of the garden
where little people
hit the spot
and one more wafer thin
trill and tiny tendril too
baroque the ages in the oak
notes of something fanciful
just a little pretension
the slightest nod they give to show
themselves in the know
a little god
and something saviour
bless this street, these feet
this nose
leaf I crawled out on
lost balance
just a little fall
half prayer
a postage stamp
and the letter it bore
these few tidings
what’s in the air unseen?
echo lost was music
a blue far dot
from where we got
and now already gone
the moment is more
than all it contains
passed as soon as said
some seed so rising
no one saw
how proud
how tall
today
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