Twelve
A dozen years,
like the dozen children I hoped
for, like the fresh, brown eggs
I cracked this morning,
like the months of each year,
for, like the fresh, brown eggs
I cracked this morning,
like the months of each year,
like
no time at all.
AN OUTRAGEOUS WASTE OF TIME AND TYPE
Spun by Abigail on Tuesday, November 10, 2026
No comments :
Post a Comment