back the rind. You’ll find
the soft flesh and sweet juice
of youth.

Peel
the debris piled on.  Thicker than
the lawn. It's a clutter
of pain. A clog is in the gutters. So,
they can't drain.

Peel
away the dead skin
of sin. So, it'll grow
anew. Clear the smoke from
the flue.

Peel
off the red paint
from this wall. Underneath it
all is a lost city.