dada
My dada poem, pre-scrambling:
I hang up the phone, words and secondhand gratitude floating around my dazed mind like bees buzzed from fermented fruit. The ringing in my ears rises and swells. I am a buoy, riding the frenzied currents of realization.
Before I know it, it's raining hopes and dreams into the palms of my cupped hands and my lips are stretched taut, a gaping grin gasping out an epiphany.
+ Having a Word doc open for so long really ticks me off. x)
Well, time to do culinary math! WOO! (Just playing; anyone want to do it for me?)
I hang up the phone, words and secondhand gratitude floating around my dazed mind like bees buzzed from fermented fruit. The ringing in my ears rises and swells. I am a buoy, riding the frenzied currents of realization.
Before I know it, it's raining hopes and dreams into the palms of my cupped hands and my lips are stretched taut, a gaping grin gasping out an epiphany.
+ Having a Word doc open for so long really ticks me off. x)
Well, time to do culinary math! WOO! (Just playing; anyone want to do it for me?)