Sunday, October 18, 2015

Apple-cheeked son

Apple-cheeked son                                                                                  

Perfect is the poem until the book is cracked,
meaning, structure and value imposed from without;

shut even for a moment and it returns
to its original apple-bright perfection –

unassailable unity, aptness and utility, 
where it has no value; doesn’t mean a thing. 

But seized and probed, quoted and exploited,
read assiduously between the lines,

its meaningless perfection is (only) seemingly
destroyed by the critical reader’s

inherent self-serving needs and fantasies,
leaving the poem then to wither like fruit

carelessly  tossed aside in the pristine, original
garden state of non-attachment.

O child of God, you are also the long lost
apple-cheeked son of Adam and Eve.



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