I dreamt about pea shells
I’ve got curly pea shoots poking green fingers through my pink toes
And puckered pea pods bursting at the seams
So tight
They’ve expanded so fast
With ideas
Protruding out of cerebral matter
That such harvest couldn’t get any fatter
But can’t be plucked
For they are
Too tightly woven and matted with the thorns they
Graze your knuckles
Bloody hands
Draw back
And on the callous ground
Discarded pea…
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