Poems in a pocket.
Ah, here we are. Yes, apparently I secretly plagiarized an entire song to no one but this scrap of paper. The words far off my style to be my own. Tucked away with my name to it and no date. I do often take stanzas from poems I like and put them somewhere to inspire some particular mood. So all's well and good. Then I see that it has the lines "I need you tonight" and all I can think is INXS. So it's hopeless as far as poems and lyrics go, when everyone is making it all so familiar.
One thing always leads to another. As Douglas Adams' Dirk Gently (holistic detective) would say "the fundamental interconnectedness of all things" has ruined my poetry. It was probably due to some alien five billion years ago wanting to fix a mistake or some other nonsense. *Poof* Here are humans scratching words on bits of manufactured wood pulp that secretly provide instructions on how to reverse the alien's mistake. So with that confusing bit out of the way. There are no infinitesimal poems. One cannot understand the purpose of some of the things we do, so just tuck it away in a notebook pocket.