Phoenix Sunday, May 26, Year 2002 For every apple tree, there are many rotting apples full of potent apple seeds. My cold knees raise a toast to the boogy people I keep seeing in the dark, because I am hallucinating. I hear a creak in the garage and stop, and then I play a single note that tastes like the freshest mountain spring. Long live peanut butter raisin toast. |
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