A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Friday, January 28, 2022

n o t e s

I used to leave
notes
around
the house
folded over.

Seam smoothed
sharp. Tucked in
away places. They 

were meant to be found.

Read in certain order. They 
weren't hard to find. They 
turned up, but no note

contained any clue 
about locations,
or sequence. 

Or thereabouts.
The notes 
once found,
unfolded,
could be flipped
over. 

However, so 
could most notes,
so.

In theory, it
could be a way 
to communicate.

Sometimes, there would be

something
on the otherside,
the non-inside. 
In other handwriting.
I wasn't the othersider.
Others could be, if they
chose. That choice, though 
was foul.
So.     

The notes.

You want to know.
Well, it's no secret, left lying 
around. They would say things
like 
"how eye roll"
"moment saved" 
"Believe it up!"
"dope"
"I love you note you don't" 
and 
"think brighter"
or
"still"
or 
"anything really."
but

each word

would alternate
in other handwriting.
All on sameside,
officially inside
(othersider writing
disregard). What happens
is,

Picture yourself (no drawing
pictures). You find a note,
open it,
add a word,
(fore or aft)
put it back
someplace else,
sometimes - you find a note

you didn't even start! 

Shocked my ass! first time
I saw that. "Hey!" One word 
only in there. And

in other hand. 

So I add a word, 
for or aft, 
put it back. 

(someplace else)

No one 
ever spoke 
of a note. 

No one explained 
how it worked. In theory

to communicate
it could be
a way 

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