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.