26 July 2010

poetry & what keeps the doctor away.

a better perspiring

through sweeps of heat
the apple speaks

in sweat and green, as the student 
of gravity or the pull of clenched fingers

snapping a branch 
back with a pluck.

bending its way at light, singing through
the hardened lace of its stem--

the apple curves 
in the slow and unseen 

choreography of its own thin skin, knitting
a quiet phonetics into the memory 

and feel 
of the wood 
it left behind.


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