I like mandarin oranges
I like the way they taste
I like they way they look
I like how they fit in pockets
I like their straightforwardness
I like that they are easily segmented
I like how easily shared they are with others
I like how I can hold a few in my hand at once
I like the feeling when I peel it all in one long peel
I like running my thumb under the skin as I peel it
I like the way they make my hands smell afterwards, orange-y
I like how people seem mildly impressed when I am finished peeling
I like folding the skin back into its original sphere like I never peeled it at all
I like when people play along when I give it to them even though they know it’s just skin
I like putting the peel on my head like hat or fake hair and pretending it’s normal
I like pinching the peel and looking at the little spray of citrus
I like ripping the peel up into little, tiny, itty-bitty pieces
I like having that little orange pile on my desk
I like knocking the little green ****** off
I like chewing on the big pieces of pith
I like looking at the word pith
I like saying pith, pith, pith
I like mandarin oranges

Navels peel great, but Valencias make more delicious juice, and more and more comparisons come up. On the morning dog walk, as we venture closer to the highway overpass, that whether-or-not feeling comes over. Do we go under? Sure, there is often creepy things there, but the dog seems locked-in, so onward under. I'm not as mulish as the dog and I can tell he smells something. Usually, it is dead, whatever it might be, but sometimes it's not, and that can be worse. It's an orange cloud morning however, and dawn breaks more nicely on the other side, so for the good grace of catching a better glimpse, I'll brave it. Then, of course, there it is, an irksome tableau, morbidly funny though. Next to the airport miniature bottle of  Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, is a turned over pigeon with his claws looking as if that bottle had dropped there from his little birdies' ***** feet. I had to giggle, as my stomach turned. Poor dead bird. Things are really bad when pigeon's are offing themselves this way. Debating to take a quick snapshot or not, time lapses, and I see the blood orange sky dripping by.

So, oh well, I'll just turn about, and not allow the dog to indulge. He's a tough tug on the leash at this point, fearless little fellow. When I return home, I peel one of those Navels. Its skin and pith roll off nicely, and as I split open the sections with my front teeth, I notice the complexity of it all. Though there are juicy parts of the pulp, around the end, it can get a bit dry and putrid. Tomorrow, I shall have to wake the dog just a bit earlier to get that glimpse of a more red to yellow moment. Something tangerine may tempt.

"Will you marry me?”
     whispered her sly slivers of purple,
          prestige and occasional lie five years later.

And had we not been asunder
     that very same altar we’d sought fallen stars on
          several days prior, I’d have said, “no.”

Sure, she’d brought a bounty oranges,
     but could he, if ever, answer with the hand
          that’d waived like the incense before?

He said “yes.”

if I had to choose my last breath
i’d choose it with you
and only fantasies create
a sort of granule gargantuan glee
if i had to choose between
letting go of fear
and touching you
i’d choose you every time
if i had to rebuttal the claims
of my own body insecurities
i’d let go of them
for you
if i had to challenge myself
beyond a thousand measures
go past fear itself
i’d do it for you
and maybe it will take forever
but i’m willing to make the case
of loving you so gently
i’m at ease with the whole world around me
and i just keep thinking of
oranges hanging loosely in a plastic net
just dangling about to
plop down on the shiny wood
floor clean of dirt or
rest them lightly on the white
porcelain kitchen counter
without a care in the world
because that’s how you make me feel
unbound and synchronized like
the clunk of a VHS tape
fitting nicely into place
re-wound and ready
for the movie to start

and if i had a wide choice of manly lovers
i’d choose you every time

you’re not what i expected
for a woman in her prime

he eats an orange
every night
before going
to bed

early morning
fades into
the stagnant
ache of summer
he waits

the pitted reflection
of the kitchen window
parts like skin
along the edge
of his knife

I’ve been squeezing moose all over my body in an attempt
To give it more volume
Which is to say I was trying to give my life more depth

When you’re finished reading astronomy you’ll end up
Throwing oranges at pedestrians because **** it, Earth is
Meaningless and everyone needs to cheer up

**** it because being content is the hardest
Thing you can possibly do
Which is to say throwing oranges at people is the hardest
Thing to do without getting your *** kicked

**** it because when an orange concentrates hard enough it becomes juice
And if I concentrate hard enough I **** myself
Which is to say I need to have a seat and calm down—
Enjoy this cigarette while it lasts

I am no longer able to print Handle-With-Care labeling
And tape it to my body like someone who actually believes that works
While the sun laughs and harasses me with oranges all day
**** it, there’s too much moose and I’m wearing a white shirt.