Startled by Existence

Apples am I eating , or -- A poem in which I give full vent to an insidious and raging vanity.

Note: this somewhat silly poem was triggered by the implications (and my brief foray) into naturalism. However, it might just as well celebrate digestion by design.

A.

Apples.

Red apples.

I am eating red apples!

R ed apples

Re da p p le s

                 Erd paples

               Apserd elp

Sa plede rpd   e!

Do you see me chew red apples?

Sapler

            Sap

                  S

M'mmm - Delicious!

Yes indeed, in apple crisp or fritter, apple sauce or pie,

I'll eat apples till I die!

So:

Apples to my clavicles,

Apples to my cones,

Apples to the red stuff

Hidden in my bones.

Apples to my glutamis

Apples to my toes

Apples to the follicles

Flowing up my nose.

Apples to my right brain,

Apples to my lungs

Apples to the taste buds

Tipp’n on my tongue.

Zowie - so in time you see,

Apple butter becomes me.

And given that these apples

Are become I,

That which was blind

Now peers into sky,

Beholding the bend and red of a younger batch.

Indeed. I take apples from their deaf and dumb estate,

And make them orators.

Through me, apples relish symphonies.

Apples know their texture,

Apples know their taste

Apples, like some distant star

That fell from outer space

look back into the sky

to see an ancient kin.

Oh, Apples of the world unite,

Throw off your shackles and join the Kirk

You have nothing to lose but

your mind.

Oh I am the great liberator of apples!