Thursday, June 28, 2018


the inanimate isn't.  Full of sap & wind-wiggling branches.  Roots a plenty.  Seeking water & sun & the cooling of evening.  She's a beauty, isn't she.  More reliable than a guard dog, too.  Let's have cold soup -- vibrantly blueberry-ish -- for lunch.  We'll serve in small clear glasses with petite spoons.  Let's send a poem out into the world which may or may not include the word "blueberry." There you have it.

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