just a parenthetical
In and out,
in again.
The place that I
am near is here
and here is
where I left my head
so I will stay, drenched
in orange that can be
peeled from the sphere
one polite porous peel
after
another.
Uprooting the pulp
accompanied with that
soft muddled sound.
Roots from the ground
fingers rooting around
in the dry peat.
Hands are covered
In iridescent juice
that looks like fish scales.
I get a taste from a
finger of sweet navel
orange
fingerprint turned to
juice-moat
makes my head spin
to the spot I
left it.
The feeling that
I feel could easily
be left
inside the safe half
circle.