A hand wails around my heart,

Knuckled on my chest, elbowing in.

I am seabed-deep, forging a tree that spouts

Any imaginable flora, fauna, fruit.

The machine is out, steel stained red,

The wires dripping with crimson sweat.

I shout for them to put it back.

No, croaks the mummified man, no.

When I turn it out, an apple ripens,

An iris screams like me, a snake is born up

From the roots.

the_fall_of_adam

Advertisements