Holding past apples in arms:
what almost has
vanished,
selvage and leaf-lavish open.
what almost has
vanished,
selvage and leaf-lavish open.
Past Apples
More by The Lone Cat
-
My Soul
My soul
is the sea-skimming air
that whistles through young children’s shells,
mimicking siren calls
It is
the hurricane gusts
-
What is Deceit?
Deceit is
the cradling of substance to one’s chest,
cold glass against writhing skin
a walk of shame across white hospital tiles,
-
exoticism
grey eyes
stare, openly
at the flesh of elephant plums
raw and hanging, dripping with a sour earthiness
open your fists, green guava
soon dropped upon the shore
of a tall-tiered world, singing of poverty and praises
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