Noise cancelling headphones still can't keep the sound of Ipad homeschooling from invading mycreative process.

Poetry is born of small details full of 

electrons and protons that play demolition derby with

one another and seek out together explosions of reality

that make the poet aware of the oppurtunity that

all is illusion.

The juf is busy with klinkers and klanken, keeping the children focused

on the small screen before their tired eyes.

I wonder if that is tea or whiskey that the teacher keeps sipping 

inbetween sentences.

I wouldn't blame her if it was.

Poetry is born of small details,

like children and teachers seperated by screens

klinken and klanken

whiskey and tea

electrons and protons 

and the way the universe is playing with us

as if we were all beat up Oldsmobiles in a demolition derby,

headed head on into collisions of human 

creativity.