what i can't get of my mind is this man had a lump, i mean a spot, of darkness in his lung, and when they went in there they found a sprouted pea.
another man had a tiny pine tree growing in his lung. somehow that is poetic, to picture it. isn't it?
(i do not know if women grow things in their lungs.)
we are still following Ray Bradbury. still mining our "loves, hates, fears and obsessions."
so if you're a writer and you wish to have an assignment (even tho the root word of assignment is ass) maybe you can write a poem, story, blurt, blog, slug, blot, wart, or worm about "the things that grow in the lung."
maybe a quirky haiku.
i can't seem to.