Argument in the Time of Apples

Torqued antipathy apparels dimple Args
dented funny car, idling gear limbed,
oiled, greased, and garbed
wardrobe red, beaming barbs,
wavy hair flames bursting
from the fat winged fenders
of his 1950 hot rod roadster,
and the countdown lights
go green, and the ground springs,
and the asphalt melts to sap;

meanwhile, in lane next whole daddy,

apples in juicy life dangle,
from form below pending,
suspended, the quick nap of a bee,
moistly sloping sap up elegant boughs,
up, wake up, give us blush
pale pink blossoms,
not the false fruit of an inapt poem.
Leaf springs, cracks the bark
of the dormant pome tree
pruned for Verve & Vigor.


What is called a season is the mapping of sap
around a wound,
and a poem is a funny car.
After the burled cuts, twisted,
elbow pruned shifting of gears
and squealing of red wheelbarrows,
the melting tongue wanders away,
talking to the bees from a standing start,
showing the pink slip core of reason
dash and flash in a sap sluice.


    1. Joe Linker says:

      Wandrian wending wind.

        1. Joe Linker says:

          Wrist full of why.

  1. bristlehound says:

    Such a pleasurable gardening experience. The contemplation of the slow moving life of the gnarled and wounded trees. Life moves very slowly whilst frantic movement beyond abates with the arrival of a zephyr gently passing over the beloved ‘Red Wheelbarrow’. Ah! beautiful melody. B

    1. Joe Linker says:

      So much depends upon the red wheelbarrow full of green apples.

  2. Love it. Magical – bursting with birthing sounds, and the mapping of sap around a wound …

    1. Joe Linker says:

      Nature is an argument to which no opposing viewpoints avail:
      moistly dripping sap,
      in juicy life,
      the melting.

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