Do we really
give away our love?
Or is it just held for a while
until the moment fades
and then ground up
and molded into something new
like those fleeces
made out of old pop bottles.
I'd rather have a fleece anyways.
The year of the poem is finished, now it is the year for the protocol! Read about the misadventures of a plant scientist trying to make sense of photorespiration one mutant at a time.
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