II
the bough breaks
and the cradle falls
but we don't have arms to catch them all
like cinderblocks drop
they hit and bound, then crack
and dust rises
and dust rises
like the offerings
the ancient ones placed upon the griddles of fear and doubt
to gain to gain to always gain
we fight our losses and lose our way
if you were an apple tree i would sit under you
perhaps i would hold myself against your lean
apples are a violent fruit
they are loud they ache my senses
always brown apples in my lunch
but never in my mouth
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