The roots of the heavy oaks
buckle the macadam
of the parking lot.
An acorn, green with August, drops
and comes to rest at my feet.
I pick it up
squeeze it tightly in my fist
then tenderly slip it into
my shirt pocket
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Hi there, Who still keeps a blog anymore? Old people? Weirdos whose knowledge of the internet stops around 2005? Have we maybe come full c...
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I'm standing in the parking lot of the strip mall wearing your wedding dress listening to a corgi bark inside a locked...
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