Sunday, September 27, 2009

free-write.

Another orange day
is released from my hands;
the familiar and the
unfamiliar each
sift back into their worlds—
another orange sign
in my path,
colors mixed from
fury and energy,
or the ketchup in which
I told you your mother
must have bathed you.
I pull chilly sheets over me—
an orange head,
stuck
in my mind.

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