Home, skipped with every symptom
known to fifth-grade-kind,
sick of every re-run
and trapped outside of storybooks,

what adventure could be better than emptying
the overflowing closet?

Even the sickest faker
would clean if they envisioned
a clubhouse in a 3 by 3 foot space

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Sugar and Acid

I’m sorry to your craft beer, but I scan the cocktails. 
It’s not that I want a fruity drink- I just can’t pass the citrus. 
I’ve seen berries turn what’s sweet to sweeter, then melt to nothing, 
but my mandarin soul could make the stoics pucker. 

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