Monday, May 27, 2024


Apples and Oranges

Every poem ought to have two endings

One version ends with a hand job

Behind the high school concession stand 

The other with a chaste kiss

Under a mossy bridge, 

You and all the trolls.

Everything is the same 

Up until the final stanza:

The puppy survives another razor's edge day

So the old hound can finally die in peace

A girl is rescued in the nick of time 

Just as the killer decides to go into therapy 

In one version you see where I’m going with this

But in the other your eyes glaze over in disgust

One ends as sacred mystery

While the other is just a bust 

For the poet, endings are interchangeable

One night I give you this one

Maybe tomorrow its secret partner

But if you read them back to back

They tend to self annihilate 

In a flash of blinding light 

Like the doomed ending 

To every electron 

And its positron partner.

Your surprised look won’t make any sense to me

From my perspective

I see no difference.

It’s like a bushel of apples

With all the rot and bruise weeded out

No matter how it ends

I always feel the same 

Gutting wound of loss.

As for heroes:

Sometimes he lives

Sometimes he dies

Yes, I’m a quasi- regular guy

Albeit weird and strange

Wandering through kaleidoscope orchards

Looking for someone to save 

All I have to give you 

Is yet another apple

That you, for some reason, keep calling

An orange 


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