These last few days, I’ve been living off the oranges growing in the front yard of our bungalow. They hang heavy on the trees before littering the ground, like fallen worlds.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. No Kings.
These last few days, I’ve been living off the oranges growing in the front yard of our bungalow. They hang heavy on the trees before littering the ground, like fallen worlds.