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Street Apple

written by: Rick Howe


Somewhere, down there
In amongst the headaches
And the chest pains
The coughing and the blood in
The back of the throat
I am walking, thinking

Somewhere, bound in thorns
Within molten panoply
Somewhere within descriptions
Of much less definition
But possibly more meaning
I am walking, thinking

And there is an apple on the street
Flesh bitten and browning underneath
Bruised and broken at the core
Left for the ants, the wasps, the flies

Somehow it snidely
Puts me in mind of futility
And angers me

I kick it and it breaks up
Skidding out into the road
And I feel nothing but frustration
No relief at all

Have I now got more affinity with destroyed fruit
Than with my fellow-man?
Am I now that far gone that I identify with food waste
More readily than I do with humanity?

Somewhere in here
Beneath all of the reverse fire confusion
I suffocate slowly
I am walking, thinking

Slowing in both every day.

Rick Howe

Rick Howe

Working from the centre and radiating outwards, Rick's poetry touches on many themes, depression, nature, greed, despair, wry humour and hope.

He hopes to reach as many souls as he can with his work, and maybe bring a little warmth to lives with shared experiences.
Rick Howe

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