The only orange on earth
grows 3 days by train, 7 hours by car, or 30 minutes through the air away
many years it had spent wasted,
yellow and bitter
too sour for any girl to kiss.

But when, by chance, I stepped into his orchard
I found him, not rancid,
but ripened
and sweet, full of western lights .

Now I'm dying for you, my love.
My skin falls off in great swollen swaths,
and the chill from the biting rain cuts to the core,
melts my bones better than any heat wave.

State lines as fences?
Well.
I will simply find a way to jump them.

There are nights when the only things that interrupt the darker portions of my discontent
is the heavy drone of insects
around my single bare bulb.

I do not live in poverty, nor could I claim that I ever have
but the tiny souls still dance
around that single bare bulb

It hangs down from an empty rafter where plaster demons creep
like a little necktie party for one
lucky bulb.

It makes me furious to see it's glowing corpse so teased
laughing monsters around it
you're with me, bare bulb

Those who mock you, I will end.
For in my room, you are king
(I could never turn you off)
Forever yours
Bulb

My name is Haley Gilarwald
and I am a force of nature.

                                          Not too long ago, the stink bugs invaded our city
                                               Unlike aliens or the usual sort, these were just
                           plague.
Like swarms of locusts they came, but they never seemed to eat, rarely seemed to die.
They just clustered.
And wings, sounding like B-52 bombers, they rattled around the bare watt bulbs and roared, and I
Swear
to Jesus God
Drove everyone here mad.

                                                                          I hate the little *******.
                                                                         I sit in my room, typing a dreadful paper for a dreadful class
                                                                         when that hell sound shows up.
(my floors, they are hardwood!)
and so I stood
notebook in hand
and skivvy clad
I played tennis with the swarming thing
they do not die!
like men, they only keep coming back
little war machines
buzzing at my discontent


                          NO MATTER HOW MANY I FLUSH, THEY ALWAYS COME BACK
                                                          THE                               SAME.    
                                                      (I am certain that they cannot die.)