by Katie Wade
On the front of magazines there are large
oranges crying, holding their little clementines
closer as the harvest approaches.
You believe fall to be the cruelest season.
You question why there are trees shaped like Jesus
and potatoes shaped like Jesus,
and toast that is burned into the shape of Jesus
and you see them everywhere, these faces
and they are holding signs pointing
in one direction that says College
and another direction that says Paul McCartney Impersonator
and you genuinely can’t choose.
You have a castle in your head
and you can’t move in yet.
A venn diagram of your life
and nothing is intersecting.
There are disk drives everywhere,
in your shoes, the spines of your books,
and you can think of nothing to insert.
You only write to make yourself more interesting,
the world is already there.