“Psst, psst, hey you, down there,
yes, I’m talking to this pack of flesh
possibly as juicy as this round self I call mine,
and I’m not being condescending here
I wish you so well you hardly can even imagine.
Please shut up.
I know I know you were not talking out loud,
but oh sweet goodness your thinking!..
Don’t look at me, ’cause you’ll be grabing and clinging
right on spot — yes oh yes, by all means, you like me,
but I’m hesitant to call it “nice”.
Drop your ideas about me, all of them,
try to perceive me for what I am,
though it won’t be easy; it takes some gear,
and habit, that you obviously lack.
See me through, see though me,
see the shapes of the air around the sides of this self
of mine, the space it is in.
Oh I’m so arbitrary, trust me, whatever your thinking
sells you right now.
You’ll feel me when I come down
on you. But for now
just breathe me, rest on me,
try not to crave for me,
allow the notion of no-me here.
And please shut up,
for all sweet goodness
of me”, —
above this head I call mine
said the orange.