Rescued from eternal obscurity, mixed into a page of notes from a Soviet History class from 3 years ago, while unpacking boxes.
Observe the hand closed:
Pointer like an eye shut,
Fingers like puppies in a bed,
Thumb like a hand over the eyes,
Nails like faces trying to hide,
Knuckles an arched back.
Pinky, the cold one, nuzzling in,
never gets a better spot.
Cardboard Rhino 
This is a good poem, like other good Barry poems it's like a list, I'm gonna write a Barry list poem
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This is a very nice poem. You once suggested I try to write a poem about something simple and small. This must be the kind of poem you had in mind. You've inspired me, like Tom, to write a poem. But it's lunchtime.
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Dmappy bo, you already wrote that poem, a long time ago. Maybe you forgot, and wrote it again. Its nice to think that you think of the same thing when you look at your hand a long time later. Your closet love of dogs is showing.
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my pinky is exactly like that when its cold.
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Cog – not a rewrite- just found an old poem in a notebook. How the heck, one might wonder, did you know about it, as I myself was unaware of it and only just stumbled on it – further evidence for my Brotherly Telepathy Google Doc?
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Observe the hand open: Smack!Darn good poem!Like Senor Wences sleeping.
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