Tangerines

Long ago,

far away in a secret meadow,

a fish leapt up, kissed a girl, made her explode...

at least that's what dude was telling me

in the produce market yesterday (lie, I was home watching a ball game).

Even so, I attract oddballs (for real).

Do I emit smells?

Sexy lust manure burning in flames of hell?

Don't get me wrong,

I'm a sucker for a fairy song,

one that wrongs the rights, rights the wrongs,

and hearing dude in the market

was lifting my heart above the apricots (not literally, that'd be strange)

lifting my heart

until he began stuffing tangerines down his pants,

then conflict swelled

like tipsy trapezoids chewing pearls in nutshells.

Dude was stuffing enough down his pants

to bridge the gap between Greece and France (if there's not a real gap, please, I'm trying).

Who did he think he was?

Some big wig hatched from egg of dove,

given the power to blast tangerines from his muff?

Him living in Tangerine World,

cape swishing, axe smashing, tangerine fingers snapping

tangerine clouds shaking tambourines (poor things, doing the best they can)

and tangerine mountains, snow, streams, bicycles, icicles, kitchen sinks,

critters bouncing back and forth like disco beams,

and yes,

tangerine people flying around tangerine movie screens,

no, screw them,

those tangerine people mean, man,

make crappy rockets,

steal from your pockets,

kick you in eye sockets.

Moving on before sinking, (sunk),

mist appearing, topaz shining, and a bumpety-bumpety boo (good thing the coop I done flew).

If true that pain is driving pleasure

and pleasure is driving pain

then who the hell is holding the reigns?

Alright to say your name.

Alright to feel both sunshine and rain. (don't know what that means but sounded ok).

Back to produce market before forgot (shh, little secret).

I may not be choicest fruit on tree,

but at least I know when to leave,

and that's saying something

when very little has been said.

peace, love, drew.