toiletooth

i keep a mess of trinkets handy
for good luck, i guess.
and nine times out of ten
one's in my pocket,
rarely kept for any sentiment to speak of
just keeping company to lint.
and if i had to explain,
i'd 'prolly need a little help.
could be anything from figurines
to marbles, coins, or flattened things.
pictures, pebbles, random seeds,
from random trees off random streets.
abandoned objects rarely seen
rarely noticed,
disregarded.
half the shit i got in my pockets is just retarded.
but i pick it up
like a bad habit
like i need it
like an automatic meaning
i percieve it.
but no one else could feel it.
and if words i had to put it into
i'd fail, it'd be like when you
try to explain
what it would feel like to die in the rain
what salt tastes like
you could ask anyone
they don't know.

a packed pocket lint picker
dumpster diver
prize winner
every single day
new trinket
i love what you throw away
and i need it.