The Whole Point

Doesn’t matter the material,
Food, ink, acrylic, digital code,
When you’re mucking about in your own

Most-preferred matters, you’re happiest.
You start out slow, maybe with a bit
Of rusted muffler you found wayside

Lying in weeds, thinking, this I like,
I don’t know why, exactly. I do.
I could do something with it. Maybe

It sits in your pocket for the day,
A week, a month, ends up on a shelf
In your shed, your garage apartment,

But once you do start working with it,
Whenever you start working with it,
You can feel yourself sink into it,

And into contentment, and it speaks
To you in a kind of muttering
That your thoughts find pleasant, as we do.