When We Are Inspired

In circumstances that fall
into our laps,
their normalcy, the trifle
incidents that plague us like
the lingering odor of
last night's pork chops.
In these times is where we,
one little me, and I
find our inspiration.
What book blew open, distracted
on our thighs
its wind-groped pages
an impatient whirlwind, which
leaves us swept up
a crimson dirt clod
in the scattered edges of its sheets.
In these uncommon commonalities
the comings and goings
of everyday indiscretions is where
we blink into poetics.
Where our eyes become
the peepholes into
our dingy ill-lit minds.
Where we, and I
digress, and imagine that
one little me, just you
is something bigger 
than what we appear to be.