poetry and prose webzine
The little things that others smile and do
encroach upon my mind for days and days.
Commanded by my own ineptitude,
I shake my fists, but rarely disobey.
It's fortunate for me that I have you
to smooth the wrinkles, make things go away.
So little do I offer for my part;
a little voice is chirping in my ear,
says I was just a user from the start.
You bid my scruples not to interfere,
content that when you wake amid the dark,
you'll search among the shapes and find me here.