Who cares for your tangerine mindedness
Whilst my world is a pulp of random fruits
Where shall i draw a line
Shall it be
between the peel.or the seed
Neither of those sing
For neither weave a fancy
At least to me
Whilst your orangish metaphors lament
I only see a wail
Constant
And unending
Is that such a chaos that you cannot comprehend
For it is but a whack on a poet as you
you are not in such mediocrity
To write better
For me to yearn for
To read those poems
In absolute chaos and eternity