Charged for every apple
Until the tree was bare
And the next apple
Was twelve hundred miles away
So they shadowy handlers
Hired twelve thousand trucks
To take apples from places
Where the soil was no longer barren
Then with all the soil turned to grey
Or otherwise spoiled from filthy hands
Topsy-turvy tents turned out
Apples by the gross on demand
Now apples with skins you can eat off of
Fill baskets with their polished brands
Now all the doctors can retire
Save for those aligned with that infertile tree.
Published by Richard Q
A human being-question chasing after both God and nothingness. The internet is a disaster, but our starlessness might teach us something. I welcome our constant experimenting with ourselves with open arms, for ultimately they are attempts of life at living and growing in life. My dwelling is in Key West, while the dwellings of my loves are Indiana, New Mexico, Texas, Massachusetts and Arizona. These spaces are nothing. Love abides and love embraces.
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Love the Dust 
This was very geological in time – somewhere my mind has been at lately. A look at us beyond a single generation.
Nicely done, man!
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This means a great deal to me to hear from you, Taran. I have been enthralled with “geological” or deep time throughout my life. It started with my boyhood in love with the existence of dinosaurs, and how there were entire ages before ours, with different lives and landscapes.
Joy to you today.
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