If you’re a fruit, it’s lemon.

Some part of me wants to reject you,

but still I pucker up.

If you’re a song, it’s fluxus.

Just Happening: noisyQUIET and

crowding up its little box.

If you’re a vision, it’s blurry.

Lying in bed, too far away.

Closed-I, you are clear.

If you’re a place, it’s distant.

Hard to reach, a steep-narrow trek,

but good to climb.

If you’re a word, it’s nameless.


a word-taste: sour, cloudy, atonal.


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