Look upon the brutal real. You are fodder. The layer cake of us Has you buried deep. Those on the sickly sweet top Loll whitely in the frosting, Slick like evidence, This sugar substitute For love, For the earth beneath us; The purple mountain majesty Escapes us, And we perish From the needle of our need To believe.
Here Is An Apple
Here is an Apple. But where it came from I cannot give you. It cannot substitute for the power you seek. And the ones you offer me are as useless as the waxen fruit in the bowl On the table.
Eat of the fruit And know hunger, one You will not ever fill. It will drive you Out beyond the hidden gate And into strife and toil Making furrows in endless fields In which you plant infertile seeds.
You may even build a tower In the quest to quench The thirst this apple gives. Those around you will be Stranger to you, speaking In words you can never hear. All of this, cities stretched as far As your eye can see, You will eventually burn.
And the tree will keep on Blossoming.
Kelly Thompson has been published in Entropy, Proximity, O Comely, Manifest Station, Witch Craft, The Writing Disorder, and 49Writers among other literary magazines and was nominated for a Pushcart this year. She is a contributor and curates Voices On Addiction for The Rumpus. Kelly lives in Denver, Colorado and is a member of Lighthouse Writers Workshop