“One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I havent mentioned
orange yet. Its twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES.”

—Frank OHara, from Why I Am Not a Painter. Thank you Ed Pramuk . . . I love this quote!