Woods, Lemon Juice Party

Sorry, I’m running out of marbles for the night so the rest of the poetry might not be as good until tomorrow.


Queen marble bee keeps her tea in a satchel to remind me that my

Niceties aren’t unique and my

Nosebleeds aren’t stable

 

I’m the wanderer in the woods when the weather sets still

When it sets

And I think to myself

And the grass listens

 

No one wants in on the party with the lemon juice

It’s all sour

It’s all rotten

It’s all terrible

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