Aug 1, 2009



Put the ship in the bottle, drop the bottle
down the well; keep the ocean neath this desert of sky.
The ship is the bottle; the sky, but apples
within appleseeds, uncounted—
bushels gone to market without price.
The well is the message: a coming grave to mark life.
The desert but current derived.
And apples? Acid and sugar and cyanide—
Asystematically rot, incidentally pie—
And these ports are ofttimes wine.