Either the compass is wrong or our north is
off. Orienteering.
Sun grows a garden.
Smuggle some papaya seeds into the dirt.
Something missing in the composition,
creating groves.
……………………….Somebody help me.
Not quite incest not quite real blood.
The most dangerous predator of all,
the flapping of wings in sunlight.
The LOST Semester 
I love in these when I can remember the line. 🙂
By: Leigh on March 2, 2010
at 11:35 pm
The dialogue really lends itself to abstract poetry!
By: lilyladewig on March 3, 2010
at 7:03 pm