1/30: On Oranges

here's some pieces of something I was noodling with yesterday: the leaf of an orange tree Fits into a palm, so is therefore a kind of prayer a sharp deep green, a smooth piece of leather, once again, a kind of prayer crush in a fist or cut with a thumbnail, inhale, it will cut back Tracing crypts of bone, reinforced hoses, a million soft balloons The mucosal landscape of ventilation, home to a menagerie Of monsters, a variety of intent. How a violence can be a grace can hold the lungs Open, clear them of monsters Intent on consumption, intent on making feeding trough vessel out of another’s temple (place of worship) It was just before daybreak when I stumbled into the orange grove... Although the seaside was my destination, I stopped here, rather, they stopped me here, held me a moment, at first against my will and then I permissed my own pausing, allowed my fingertips the cool emerald leather, the sandy iron, the thousands of dimpled grins. Here, breakfast, or some antimicrobial sweetness to combat the monsters that have taken up residence inside you. Here, a reminder of strength, what it feels like to remain erect and still amidst the rain and ocean and heat, here, how to make them a part of you, how to take what you need and offer what you make of it back into the world -- someone will always need something you have.