Impromptu

an orange is an orange it says what it is but i'm being led on by blinder covered eyes trying to catch my own kind of orange i'm not a rib cage showing future smelling of glue horse or a borage leaf long earred mule nor an donkey correctly i am an ass but still only trying to catch that which dangles before me though not knowing if i go around in circles the same stomping grounds as a child but now older but what if it's that myth the grand if of all ifs that no longer can sit it needs to be propped up but can no longer prosper as once the great american dream