In poemw, the third finger of the left hand hits 'w' instead of 's' and makes up a new kind of poem, the sort-of poem, the approxi-lyric, the poem that doesn't want to claim poemness. Poemw are about daily things -- graffitti, hair, sea gulls, second-hand clothes -- and rarer things -- dead crows, baked mice, ski accidents, Judith Butler. They're jokes-and-not-jokes, cheeky, goofy. Tender.