Orange Autopsy

creation is

a spiritual fingerprint - a microscope

into the inside, a police report

of the past, a map

of tomorrow; like me,

my work is

hopelessly orange, rhyming

with nothing, sometimes

hard on the eyes, often

relegated to the back of the wardrobe, full

of questions and pseudo-answers, a mix

of sanguine and sweet;

a film of carrot-colored algae, clinging

to the bottom of a ship that wrecked

between two shores, too Ellis Island

to be Elvis, and too Elvis

to be Ellis Island;

the flesh of a yam, falling

in and out of fashion depending

on the diet of the day, speaking truth

when heated, nourishing

with its power;

an apricot,

reduced down to its finest point, placed

inside pastry crust, daring

to ooze out just enough

to choke a pearl necklace;

a traffic cone

on a knotted road

under permanent construction, promises

of completion

on a tightrope.