Meditation on a Grapefruit To wake when all is possible
before the agitations of the day
have gripped you
To come to the kitchen
and peel a little basketball
for breakfast
To tear the husk
like cotton padding a cloud of oil
misting out of its pinprick pores
clean and sharp as pepper
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I toyed with mentioning this with my post but wanted the focus on the piece itself, if that makes sense.
Did you know him? I really enjoy his poetry.
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I know it's sort of a fucked up thing to say, but I feel like this was a "good death." Like epic style. I think he turned into a bird anyway. That's why his tracks disappeared.
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That should be in a poem that you one day write.
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