Apple

I ate an apple today.

& now that I think about it,

I’ve eaten an apple every day this week.

& life is suddenly in front of me

but also behind me.

The man at the bar says

we been through this before

& lets me into the crowded room

& I think well no this is a good thing.

Andy suggests we leave,

the crowd finding little spaces to move

in between us like villainous snakes

when really we’re just here to talk quietly about

this little den of massacre called America

& we find some place where our knees touch under the tables.

Then, there is, oh god,

a terrible and swift feeling

in the pit, down like near the liver, underneath

because, I tell Leah that I like a guy, man,

beard, bread-eating little devil, red

because maybe, he grabbed my arm while he kissed me.

Or, I’m deep in the chasm of wanting

for anything,

like two mated penguins

except one of them has died

& it’s really time for them to move on.

& then I realize the apple isn’t enough.

& these feelings are good

& to hurt with longing is to

seize the means of production

& feeling

wiped out,

mauled over,

tapped down

or

any of the above

is the simplest way

to enact change

& the bloodied body is new & simple

& is rising above

what?

I’m not sure but

I drink water slowly,

listening to a French man

fix the old wooden doors

to my house.