Like skipping stones,
I tweet sometimes.
Sometimes I get
one, two,
sometimes a few -
but most often they just sink.
Down,
down to the bottom,
the bottom of a bog,
a bog already littered with
letters
for anyone, everyone
and no one in particulars.
But why worry?
With the tidal activity and fish kicking them around
these thoughts may surface again.
And the worms dig up new ones all the time
to chuck sideways
set to your own personal spin
spiralling off into space again.
Again and again
just one more line -
another line to pass the time.
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