Poetry Snacks
Orange peels litter my desk,
sprinkling sparkling droplets of orange oil
over my unfinished love sonnet
A croissant is over there,
I just remembered.
It soaks my slam poem,
which I shall never perform,
with buttery heaviness
Jelly beans, blue, red, green, white,
to be found on the remote island of
my travel diary, as profuse with blank verse
as the ocean is profuse with fishes
A peanut-butter sandwich, open-faced,
refuses to unstick from the sestina
I have given up on finding proper words
for
I need to clean up my desk.
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