all my stones

all my stones
are praying amen
to the lost winds
that never played together
the tears of the fire hydrant
spit at the red light
and the yellow caution
me against my go-go
this spring the flowers
are over dressed
and some little boy
is waving a flag of toad stools
catch me if I got
it wrong
the birds are using discarded
plastic to build their homes
wild grass is growing from
the squirrel's under belly
and when I have the time
I will be picking at the
of my black skin
digging a hole to let you in
blow the nose of my pet pea
my pet butterfly named
Charlie then go home
from this poem.