One Apple embodies all the symbols of consciousness coded with wounds from simian bite, one turn on eternity's spit and embers of the national dream smoulder in "the broil of earthly life." Smoke curls about the augur of seamless lips, a flag of flame waves in motionless wind, empty patio chairs salute the irony of a mountain born of fire, stowing weapons like an overbaked apple black to its heart.


Unconsciously cooking in a crucible in a part of the brain boiling below points of view far from the wrist, as a cast of Falcons rake past the speed of sound, swallowing the limits, transmogrifying the very earth to a ravenous bird fouled with reddening face.


A fence is an illusion of its own linkage, ignoring sand blowing between its teeth, stained with ash crashing onto the patio's carpeted floor of delicate biota and militant bones surrounding a fresh core.