in loving memory of the orange // teatro real, madrid

less than halfway into the life and death of marina abramovic preview night at the royal theatre in madrid // high into the fourth floor seats, near the roof, where the chandelier looked much much bigger than the figures on stage // i had a piece of orange in my hand // sometime during the evening, i peeled it // I broke them down into pieces // the fourth floor  balcony wafted of orange // i gave some of the oranges to those seated near me, some friends and some strangers // it tasted good // by now, i must have excreted some of it, and already forms part of the earth, i imagine // and some i have retained in the form of vitamins and nourished my body //

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