poem of the day March 5

Squeezing

the orange

beyond repair

bleeds the juice dry

spreading pulp fiction

The perishable finite nectar  

drips only toward open mouths of the greedy

Forcing what's left of human rinds to harden

into positions so extreme the orange skin 

no longer retains compassion

Those left become withered pretzels 

Twisted slaves lost in the desire of power

but even they eventually die on the vines 

unaccustomed of the unnatural thirst