Feeling a bit brevity-is-the-soul-of-wit today. (And it still feels like it should be 10 am; where did the morning go?) DVerse wanted a poem about autumn, and I just scribbled this one out. The other day they asked for a symbolic poem as well, which I think this could serve double duty for; the whole day-as-apple thing came out of remarking on the crispness of the air. It’s a pretty simple and straightforward piece; given the stuff that’s been filling my journal lately, that’s kind of a relief.
I want to snap my teeth into today,
perforate the scarlet skin and get
into it. Dig down
right to the pentagram cathedral of
its core. The hours
fraying off blue tufts of perfect air
and dripping like cider
from the corners of the mouth;
the cyanide minutes
spit out like
so much minuscule treasure.