“First,” I say, “we need to beat the cream cheese until it's smooth.”
All tagged trees
“First,” I say, “we need to beat the cream cheese until it's smooth.”
I refused to look around me, didn’t want to see, but the piles of roadside logs couldn’t be ignored.
The tree surgeon inspects the trunk. He points to the outgrowths: troublesome.
I haven’t written a single poem in months.