factoids are cobwebs
cluttering stairways of thought
hard to brush aside;
tripped on scorpion
took header into spiny
Saguaro embrace
that loud “CLUCK” under
my bike… “F–K,” did tire blow up?
Oh. Only acorn.
articulated,
describing “lorry.” British,
truck-ish, quite bendy.
—Peter Quinn
Poor Farm Road
