I’m doing some reorganizing of this Substack as I plan out what my writing life may look like for the rest of 2024. Going through my Google Drive, I found several micro poems I had originally written for Instagram in 2021.
I break the skin
of the dimply clementine.
It spits citrus,
revealing with each tearÂ
more of its veiny flesh.
In mere seconds,
it is gone–
and I am leftÂ
wishingÂ
this fruit had beenÂ
a donut.
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