I hate not being able to think of things. I prefer finishing things. Things being poems.
And stacks of essays still needing capital letters placed atop their jelly-stained pages.
It is still not fall in Alabama. I know you were wondering. Hoping, even. We all were.
And yet. And yet. I am distraught and unsurprised to report: Zero corn mazes.
Zero pumpkin patches. Zero hay rides. Zero leaves crunching satisfyingly beneath
my size 13 sandals.
3 comments:
where's the closet maze of corn?
I don't know. Iowa? I'm going to one in Wisconsin this Halloween weekend like I always do.
Size 13? You have big feet.
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