Skins of Apples  

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.