and the award goes to...

Taking over the prize of the Newton,
we bring to you - Minuscule.

He's small and not so fluffy,
has ears that can hear even the drop of a pin, eyes that can see even a hair strand missing,
and although he may look easy to blend in he's the one that makes the difference at every occasion
- good or bad.

He's the guy who hinted out the date on the paper to your ma,
when you got caught with the trippy seeds.

He's the guy who made you panache at the cops 'stache
when he was questioning your sobriety.

He's the guy who hid the naked guy in your room (just fine)
when a suspicious mother came sniffing trouble.

He's also the guy who gave your wife a whiff of the musk,
the one her sister uses.

He's the stitch in every hem, the cut that marks every crystal.

Please give a round of applause to this head-itching, mind-crunching, nail-biting, ugg-oid,
who's used to making every bit of your nasty life even more nasty, and vice-versa.

Gracula

(n): grass eaters.

Living on pot, these species want nothing more. They come out of their cribs at night, looking weary, red eyed, droopy slugs, scavenging for pot. Sense of smell is their tool, and if you have anything of the sort around you, beware they are coming for you. You won't know from where, you won't know how, or when, but they will come.

i sing to myself

shadows in the sky
looking weary on

winds running through
caving in, too few

||| groovy stings are tuned,
bees with honey fumes|||

life lingers.
in the making.
jazzy fingers.

then Gregory retires