this poem is a moving tar
-get, sludged-smudge scribble
of a scrabbled star. she’s too far
off center to make her point, dart
-ing about in the dark without
a true mark. she’s got one dang
-ling thought caught on a line
but she’s quite sure she won’t
catch it. at least, not in time.
written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.