Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Apple-cheeked son

Apple-cheeked son

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

eyes taken off even for a moment
and it returns to its original

apple-bright, closed-cover perfection,
where, composed of unassailable unity,

aptness and utility, it doesn’t mean a thing. 
But seized and probed, quoted and exploited,

read assiduously between the lines,
its perfection is seemingly destroyed

by the critical reader’s inherent
self-serving fantasy, leaving it to rot

like carelessly bitten fruit tossed aside
in the original garden state of non-attachment.

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

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