I cut a lemon in half, and from its heart
Came a spray of words, vulgar, stinging.
The vile fruit stained pages full of poetry,
It outstripped me,
It published obsessively.
It left itself everyplace, like some sort of acidic gospel.
I said, well,
That's just fine.
I picked it up,
Used it for an eye,
And saw a crazy dandelion world through the burning.
I tell you,
The lemon mocked me.
Each half claimed to be more than I was, whole;
It insulted me,
Because that's how it rolls.
I said, listen,
I don't have to take this from some bald, jaundiced little turd who can't even stand up.
How dare you?
Who do you think you are?
At this, the lemon laughed.
"Rage on," it said.
"You, with the knife in your hand."