flatulence in bed

thumb tack the size of a dime still sticks to my wall

a bright blue blob

and every time i look at it i think of scraping it off

but not long enough to actually do it--

i'm sure i could find some poems in this room

on that bookshelf in between gossip girl and of mice and men

or on that nightstand near the tissue box and behind the snow globe...

i can find a line on that shelf next to the picture frame

that holds old friends hostage-

suspended in a moment of false friendship-

but was it false then?

i found a verb under my blue carpet

and a noun stuffed into my old pink pumas in the closet

and an adjective drowning in my sock drawer

but the pronoun stuck to the tack on the wall

oh, i guess that's why i never scraped it off.