Poetry

The credibility
of an apple
becoming an icon.
 
It draws first
blood, when you―
were sleeping.
 
It still matters:
thinking of milt
but sinking your ferry.
 
There was no epilogue.
 
A midsummer night.
I will forget
your name.
 
Standing in a
queue, you should not
punish yourself
 
becoming unmatched.