The Apples of My Eyes


The Apples of My Eyes


Passion for others alive doesn’t last

Passion for the dead is eternal

Passion for art or craft is passion for myself

Oldest friends corrode like apples

Fallen from the tree in the garden

So, I’m the tree?

Gnarled and fixed and twisted by desire for something above

Newton saw that tree and saw his law of existence as now do I

Bearing seedless fruit

Bite me, Eve

That wasn’t a hiss

I’m just old and flatulent

How do ya like them apples from the inner man as I still praise my maker

I could be a legless orphan scuttling in a Bombay alleyway

Thank aGod

I can’t be whipsawed by praise or dislike

That would be a job

I have a job

I grow old

Do I dare to eat a Pop-Tart?


Take another bite

From the apples of my eyes

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