bad faucet

in this poetic world i am a bad faucet when battery operated minds meet water time like liquid slows and flickering flashlights die mouth turn to faucets and spit out poetry like waterfalls about morse code red hats broken drawers and stardust but in this poetic world i am a bad faucet with two or three good drops of water before i dry out for another month then people like her and him and him and her come along and turn my handle and poetry drips onto orange paper cranes that fly away almost too fast and I jot down small paragraphs with no punctuation and maybe a backwards b or two on to whatever paper I can find and then the faucet stops and I am left with remnants of hangul football games passive aggressiveness and letters never to be sent sometimes when they turn the faucet it shuts off in a way that the pressure builds up and a third or fourth drop of water falls from my bad faucet onto orange paper cranes that fly away almost too soon