Prosetry

Give me prose,

short, nasty, crumbling,

while I wish for the

rocketry of poetry.

*

The third law states

That for every apple

There is a tree

And a man who

Sits underneath it with

A belly full of

Fruit that grows into

Seeds of thought that

Leave him wondering what

Body is pulling him.

*

A life boat

Is dead weight

When the wind

Does not blow.