Skins of Apples
Your mind draws up
Like a fist,
Draws into itself
Like the head and legs of a turtle,
Your arms hang
Like the limbs
Of a slaughtered cow
While the body drips at the heart,
Your legs unsteady
As a wino
Stepping out
Of his luck,
Teeth tighten on tongue to keep it
From looking for him under the skins of apples.
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