I stand against the crooked fence,
Eating a solitary apple
And scattering dark cherry seeds.
Behind it is a building
With faded bricks and a pallid chimney.
The yard is a landscape
Of giant dandelions, grasses and weeds.
A bent tree flickers with
Sun-dappled leaves, having bark marred with scales,
And low slender branches
That stoop over the field and sway like vines.
Dead twigs fall from like tears.
Small birds sing in its frail center, firgures with black breasts.
Pigeons peck the brown earth,
Their foolish gray forms eclipsed by night feathers, and
Discarded plastic bags billow like butterflies.
In the smell of mulch and dead stalks, I create a poem.
The Earth’s an apple.
Its silhouette curves with the north-south poles.
The seeds possess the flaming red metal,
The flesh is magma,
Its skin is the surface, a biosphere,
With eaten parts birmming with oceans.
The world decays with sticky sweetness.
YOU ARE READING
Someone Like Me {Poetry}
PoetryWith power there come words. And with words there comes music. And with music there comes joy. And that's why I write poetry.
