a blackout poem

an old poem written years ago while working with kiddos, recovered yesterday while searching for a lost sweater - a sweater called the Matrix. i’m convinced a sweater goblin is wearing it in the 11th dimension.

fruit, branches, and leaves
time to eat.
drinking,
drawing

500 fruit, leaves, and tree bark.
good to know
we meant it,
the jungle.

guiding it, and giving
carry, and put down.
as you can see,
imagine
anything