Little Green Apples

Little green apples (some are red).

Market was frozen in a black and white polaroid;

a deaf dog is barking at the wind.


Mirrored lips are matching, two are yours-

and other boys would love to be where I’ve just been.


I like the soft things better now. I was foolish. I was stupid. But there is a certain stillness at the center of the universe, where the lottery makes payments with a million tired dollars and we shrug and curse our luck and tear the useless numbers up.


It is probably more hopeless than that.


Play the record where the room was not entirely soundproofed: hear the crickets caught in cobwebs, hear the 18-wheelers moving freight and waiters between shifts smoking their menthol cigarettes with no regrets for their inclusion, nor a small shred of delusion that there’s any life till 2 and then it’s let’s get fucked up quick.


You have this look today and yesterday and ever since I’ve noticed that blocks everything except you out and you’re all that’s in focus –


Little green apples (with some red

but most not yet).

The sunset light was golden through the mesh of a screened-in deck.


~ by perfectionatrix on July 12, 2016.

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