One red and yellow
McIntosh apple mobbed
by volunteer tangerines
death insists on the juice
of living to earn some
credit for the earth
the redemption of orange
in childhood calls
for its own disease
the last one I picked
the actual atmosphere
was wrapped in
delicious past delicious
your poem nothing
left in my glass.
2 comments:
This is interesting and then the end is such a funnel. So enjoyable to read!
Thanks, Rachel. I always enjoy your reactions.
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