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.
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