Depending on your location, it may not be a sunset.

My nostalgia is wistful
Happy memory hurt the backs of my eyes, wincing.  I'm watching
a sunset over the rooftop from the fourth floor in the industrial desert
that I can only have now, and that I love. 
A sunset is never meant to be held, that is the point of a
sunset of life, eyes twinkling, remembering happy time,
who understands unless they are there? 
Screened window, hope, looking over a parking lot
fourth-floor I watch a sunset, and promise to

remember it happily, I will!

and the orange is stronger, strengthening like rewindind a cassette

that can play in the background, the sun

coming up again, holding the old happy times
a finger up the side of a glass, dripping with light
suspended in the sky
shining the wist out

of happy eye reflections.

-Citron

Various Units of Measure

I don't understand a year. 

I don’t understand a kilogram. 

I don’t understand a degree;

neither Celsius nor Fahrenheit.  I don’t understand an hour. 

I don’t understand a dollar, not to mention twenty or ten thousand.  Please,

don't ask me how much power is in a horse, how much water

is in an Olympic-size pool, or how many people,

real people,

were killed at Auschwitz. 

I could give you a number  I wouldn't understand. 

I could give you a number;

I wouldn't understand. 

I understand five jellybeans, but the jellybean to ton conversion

is incomprehensible to me, as are quarks, neut-

-rons, molecules, cells, and eco-

-systems. 

Humans explain things terribly, so don't spoonfeed me;

I can make my own spoons.  You know what though? 

You know what? 

I need three ounces of silver. 

-Citron

cave

the bedroom where the walls are blue

where the window has a peering view

and the woodwork shines like painted dew

is where i stay when i hide away,

and on my bed i happ'ly lay

and wait until the finish of the day.

-Pamplemousse

homophones

pamplemousse.
pampered moose?

citron.
sit ron!

banana.
ban anna.

cerise.
serious?

-Pamplemousse

pear

one says a woman's shape is like a pear,
but no...
it is the shape of woman.

not an hourglass or a nondescript circle
but of woman.

-Pamplemousse

Responseing, pg. 2411

It should be in a medical dictionary,
and probably is, because by chance so many women
says the translucent page, bunches of gray dust clinging to the neglected corners
so many women don't find compliments sincere.
There are not a lot of poets.
Poetry is subterfuge or complete sincerity
and subterfuge only by the folksy snakes.
They say, in a well-thumbed thick paper cookbook about dinner parties
that compliments are gifts,
like snowflakes, melting under close inspection.
I hope my gift was well-recieved, and you weren't staring at your glove
with the intensity of the premed with thick glasses and scruff,
inhaling, exhaling, the dust is dancing.
He blows it off because it irks him,
and

"Say you had a friend named Lily.  When she arrives, tell her you enjoy her green dress."
The cook ripped out the next, appropriate Lily effemerate response with teeth, and like a gift of her own
she now values her dress quite solidly. 

-Citron

hollow feathers

when the birds line in a row

one really ought to know

that they fear the auniform crow

that will break their symmetrical show.

the bone white ones are calm

that they will not fall to harm

the brick red ones are wary

of those beasts that are so scary.

the sky blue ones are sad

that they will lose what they had.

-Pamplemousse

Oreo

collegeapplicationstranscriptshonorrollvaledictoriansummerresearchundergraduategraduatemedicallawpostdocnobelprizewinner

knowledge, pursuits, love, enlightenment, paths, spirit
a good book and and interesting conversation
a laugh shared by intimate friends,

music in the car, shouting for joy

partieswomanityovereatinglosingweightworkingoutautographapprovalmiddleagednesssocietiesandfunctionsimportantpeoplesuck

-Citron

"How do you know that?"

"How do you know that?"  Look buster, somehow that sophic remark didn't seem completely rude coming out of your male mouth but the random camel feed you shove in mine every day is completely unbased in fact, so if you would please cite or get out of my house you hippo.

The boy was telepathic, so he turned around and cried.


-Citron

A Lily on a Lake

I swim at times,

oftentimes i find myself in treacherous waters

and if not, in white waters of pedestrian 

opaqueness.

when this happens, i climb up on to my favorite lilypad

there, i find a pure talent and zest

there seems to be a graceful alabaster glow

on this small island in the lagoon.

this gracious aqueaflora allows me to rest on her leaves

and we exchange secrets over the ripple of the waves

i would have long drowned in the tar

and lost myself, 

if not for this lovely being.

intelligence and creativity

are merely one

oh her world's worth of talents.

i am grateful that she exists

for i truly feel that i am i. 

and i like i. 

thank you

-Pamplemousse

Lucia

Lucia,
It is most rare to find someone who
after seeing the joy of a drunk
decded not to drink.
To be a friend, a universe, at least,
must be in common.
We giggle at gay men's poetry that comes in the mail
and try to skip the expletives
not because the words burn our throats

(going down to fire)
but because we are too responsible
to lose ourselves that way.
Lucia, thank you
for seeing the joy of a drunk
and responsibly

keeping your cool

(and your tongue)

-Citron

Vivacity lives in attention.

I guess a while back I decided the world wasn't complicated after all
because I could just skip the hard parts
and like everyone else
not
fix
anything.

It was, of course, a terrible idea,
and I take a dose of reality every morning
like a spoonful of fishoil.
it's not nice
but it keeps me living longer,
and my breath smelling worse.

I can build a house for every
complicated radical
in my heart, which is what my mouth
connects to. 

-Citron

A-side assertive, B-side blues

Magazines don't like my poetry
Friends think it's okay compared to their mothers'
Mother humors me,
I humor me
and write poetry. 
The word "filler song" is used exclusively by the consumer.
Every song on the album is important.
I am important.
Records spin and spin and depending on the third dimensional
world around sound different.
it will spin the same through set beat time
but it will sound very different. 
There is needle room for a bit, a byte, a bite
When it hops over that little black line
at 18, and when centuries read zero
I will be important.  or not.
I might be the B side. The one that is never played in this universe,

on this kitchen table.
But please, stop telling me I do not exist.
I do, and I am important. 
I write poetry.

-Citron

soul of the insect

The last portal to the universe has closed

And I am a trapped bee

Aimlessly flying around the pomegranate

That fruit that holds the seeds of discord

And of ill-fated disaster

I swim around the sky

And attempt to escape, but soon I cannot breathe

And I fall down to earth

Lying in a pool of garish red

My Blood.

But no, it is a puddle of juicy sweat

From the pomegranate.

Violet Scarlet with no heart

And I, I know that I am bound to this earth

Even though I have wings,

I cannot, ever reach the heights

Of the dewy cerulean peaks

Or of the mystical jewels that gleam tears.

They are much too far

For an insignificant little breathing bead

of sunlight

like me.

-Pamplemousse

you can

the world is trembling and i can't think and ohmy god i can't believe it and i just...just i, i see it there, but it must be some kind of dream, or mistake, or maybe someone else..?  it's just unreal, no no no, this can't be, i wonder how it happened, it must be a mistake, they mixed mine up with someone elses, but no, there it is, imm looking at it, im not crazy am i?no im not....i cant be. this must be real i cant believe it.  I AM SO HAPPY. im acting childish, but oh, the world is in rainbow hues and everything is just lovely! and i am so grateful, thank you thank you Thank you God, you had pity on my silly scrawls oh. thank you, thank you. ah i cant contain my joy i want to scream and dance and eat a 10 tier coconut cherry cake, and hug a baby. my heart is going to go off its track it is beating so fast.  i am so happy.

this moment of elation.
is a priceless jewel, that one experiences
very rarely.
this moment, makes all those other not so happy moments go away.
if one tries and fails and tries and fails, 893 times.
then decides that it is useless.
NO i cant go on with this, this rejection is too much, i cant do it, i need to stop and find some other....thing to do.
the 894th time would be the moment of elation.

-Pamplemousse

i come from a land ___

i come from a land down under
where the flames sparkle on the walls
and the woody smell of earth eats away at the lies
where the dirt is good and clean and soluble in tears,
the sky is orange and glowing as an infant mushroom.
this land is dear and wholesome, and the air
is sweet with cinnamon and sweat.
but i need more,
i must see what else lies in this multiverse.
because i know, there's not just one.

i go to the land up above
and it is cold, but one feels blissful.
euphoric are the sounds one hears up above
the crash of the waves.  and the great silence.
there are lavender streams and the flowers never die.
the sun is blinding and exudes an aroma of ambrosia
the leaves have flecks of gold and dance when no one watches
and the frogs swim on snowflake lilies.
this is paradise, but it is too cold
and i want to feel the hot comfort in my chest.

i visit the land over there,
and it is stony, the cliffs frame the land
and give the gray valleys a pompous pride,
the trees are rigid in their stance
one could say they are perfect,
but one could also say they are horrid.
it is neither cold nor warm, but dry.
the pumpkins and wheat in the field hum with hidden energy
and their leathery skin rubs and rolls on the earth of concreteness.
the lions sleep 'neath the wings of griffins
and dream of their ancestors.
the land over there is ancient and sacred,
but i am not a priestess and i need the oven in my soul
to warm my body.

i walk many miles, passing many willows.
i look at my fingernails, and see the tint of orange sky
reflected in them.
and i feel warm, and home.

-Pamplemousse

pep talk

It would be a little silly of me to send my poetry to anyone.
Contests highstrung magazines------imbalances
of course they are, no matter the consumer enjoyment
who cares whether the winner is bad
it's in a magazine.
for a second I
care!
Then that second passes.

you know, I try
hard!
but its not for you.  Sometimes I pretend it is.
externally judged critical success!
but thats a really stupid reason to do anything. 
Like going to Harvard Business School because the odds of
being a CEO are good for
the general
population

(thats like following rules, contest rules and poetry rules
(which is an oxymoron anyway
)to be self-satisfied (except if your talent
is rule-following))
(more power to you!)

I read poetrypoetrypoetrynovelspoetrylyricsheeeetslyricsheetspoetry
I can do so much better than
much of!
this junk.  I've not gotten there yet,
and I won't, not on
your!
terms.
But I can, ICANicanicanican.

I enjoy reading
copious amounts
of myself.


-Citron

This is Just for Practice

I would like to claim 20 poem points for this album, which was created entirely by me.  Most of the songs were written several times. 

-Citron

The Buddha

The Buddha, before he was,
set out in sitting to escape the cycle of life and death.
At his birth he shouted- this will indeed be his last birth.
Would you mind being born again?
The Buddhists were very open to wondering
if this truth is the real high truth, even if its not
the Buddha "escaped the cycle of life and death"
Whether or not he quietly traveled
to an infant salmon or koala or President,
he thought hard, prayed hard, and escaped this.


-Citron 

the sky is a wet blue phoenix

The sky is blue
water has been stretched over the giant drum of the world
Don't believe me?  It is round.
Lay on the ground in the forest and the trees stretch around you, convering into one point,
what you've considered flat is actually
actually a bowl
a cradle basin.
I heard a thunder beat
(Hands scoop water from the ocean and smooth it across the mouth)
(This morning I saw the sky skin was white and aged)
I heard thunder beat like a yellow marching band drum would,
an accidental cracking hit
in a dusty band room closet
in some high school in Minnesota.
The whole canvas cracked
melting and falling, in a patter
as cactus seeds rattle up and down a rainstick.
I wonder if the trickling through soil is music for the bugs and bacteria
under my feet.
I pretend to hear the water splashing into the next sky below. 


-Citron

insects in the sky

the lights they form a shape i can not detect
this natural (unnatural) defect
appears as a horrid cicada on the ground
far far below on the ground
with networks of glowing spines

horrid poet

every day must the dilligent poet write
it is one´ s duty to the art
i
i have been disrespectful
this will not do




so receive this my public apology
-Pamplemousse