You never know when you get an itch. I could be fleas.
It could be inspiration trying to find an outlet, but turning
into something like hives. Life is darn inconvenient some-
times. When you are a rabbit, you make do with what
comes your way.
Monday, I think it was a twig of rose hips landed on my desk.
Yesterday, it was stink bugs. This morning there was a dead
preying mantis on its back next to the door. All laid out as if
for burial. There is meaning there, somewhere.
Anyway: Despite the business of found poetry, the itch is upon me.
There will be Quickly prompts daily through October, and–sane or
I hope to see you.