A wheelbarrow may be some
-thing upon which much(ness)
depends, but it is not my nom
de plume, not that last plum
you ate that was so cold. It has
but one wheel, and a tendency
for tipping over, spilling all we
are out into the dirt. A plum
may be something more, no
wheels, but round, un for
-bidden (bitten) fruit, ready
only for the carrying of teeth.
NaPoWriMo, day 29.
oh. i can taste that coldness ~
so long as it doesn’t carry my teeth too far…