A fruit is a suitcase for seeds.
Goodbye you suckers and steady bad luckers
We're off to the land of club soda unbridled
We're off to the land of hot middle-aged women
Off to the land whose blood runneth orange
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJEW3U63HB4
Sunday Morning
by Wallace Stevens
I
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession o
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