The Collector

Pens, and pen knives, minor gadgets and gizmos, chopsticks old zippo lighters, motheaten books that crumble an old-fashioned wisdom into the mush of a quaint twaddle, words to muddle over on a day locked into a raincloud. He collected all sorts - mostly useless things, mostly the unimportant, the worthless, gathering together all the small curiosities of the bygone, things often broken and long discarded. His poetry is a collection also, a jumble of oddments and offbeat widgets, stuff he finds hazily dreaming beside unpaved roads.