
sometimes i think just one sunny day would cure me of everything.
other days i think pills and tonics and treatments are lies that i continue to swallow.
most days i just daydream about last summer when our tiny sunfish
for a friend
i picture you some days – a utensil in one hand and your cheek
in the other, gazing somewhere in the distance as your
submission for next year's prompts:
Use the NY Times Connections as a writing prompt! Take all 16 or one line of the words generated in there (before it's been solved) and use them in a poem or short story.
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