Fit Poem by Aaron Eliad

There were days I was happier
than a night on the floor,
freshly squeezed orange pulp goodness
right to your door,
moments of clarity galore.

I sent violets
through the pulp sludge in your cheekbones
like sick clones.
Sewing up umbrellas
with stutter elastic
beheometh fish nets.
The sun on plastic fences
betraying your ears.

There were days more marose
than a jug of sloshing souls.

The skinny squirrels realize
you question sexuality
like you question everything
you can put in a box
if you staple large enough holes in it.

On a balcony overseeing
the ferocity some dreams can have,
there are sticky traps to catch pests,
disgusting guns to enslave criminals,
robbers to catch cops,
take them to a place like paradise lost.

You could be happy in a cage,
get malaria on a stage,
you could live on the sun,
you could be anyone you wanted
to.