it’s a little thing in front of
the day’s staged poem
a tiny box of ripe mandarins
which empties every day
with a few copies of the
written work missing as well
tonight a full-size bicycle basket
sits where the little box used to
a fruity hopefullness
makes me wonder if my citrus
understudy will overtake
the main event
and yeah I understand
that a sweet juicy orange
can unlock an amazing door
inside you
where a poem merely
attempts to find a key
that will fit
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