Writerraebeth's Weblog

at night, late, just past midnight the worms rise. they seethe and stitch the grasses between my toes. rains drench, worms scroll the driveway, try to breathe. dawn sun cautiously clears the horizon, scenting for remnanted danger of deep night trysts, bakes the worms to the asphalt. Later, fat robins ignore this bounty.

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