Watch me wither in front of your eyes;
Rub my shoulder till you become sore.
Watch me bed ridden and try to remember all the little things:
The time I cut that lemon and missed,
The red napkin left on the table,
The tears that followed.
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I’ve tilled my yard.
Like my brothers in the days of yore.
Except I rented my tiller from Home Depot.
That, and my tiller runs on unleaded gasoline.
Nonetheless the days of yore:
Hours and hours passed as I tilled;
My thoughts springing from bridges to tunnels.
From the bold Continue reading Bumble Bee