June 23, 2013 by K. Nicole Wilson

Plucking a poem
from the garden of brain matter
on my small plot
varies by degrees
according to the terrain
where each species flourishes.

My inner flower child is a tomboy,
regularly embarking on new searches for verse,

sometimes the trip eats only hours,
but often it devours days,
swallowing the sun with the slightest taste,
leaving me to linger in half-light,

arranging grey bouquets.

-K. Nicole Wilson

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