there is little reason why I should have to explain
cars or the weather

or the house

here they all are
at the grocery store as usual

staring from their skins
orange or berry

and placed in the refrigerator when we get home
they sit and in arm chair made by Pablo
and wait

to die in the teeth of a snack-eating human
myself perhaps,

and as they sweat their patience out the pours of their faces
unmended by makeup design artists

their colors fade to a reality that consumerism dismays
and those sour pieces of fruit must find

a way to enjoy the subtleties of what they have
while bearing witness to the measure of what

is hardly standable by sanity’s decree

there must be a way out of here
a way that requires to hold still

until rotten and always in need of caffeine


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