Cut the apple as you want
It will not lose its taste in another shape

There are times in my life
When all I want to do
Is to disappear
No plans
No questions
And no recriminations
Just disappearance
To nowhere

                            By Phil Roberts

Swaying Pin Oaks wave to me from
my window perch , a veritable sea of gold
and green in contrast to this dark living room
I remember these majestic Water Oaks as
seedlings , held upright by kite string and wooden
stakes
Cedar trees standing o'er twenty feet tall , Wild Plum
trees congregating for a quarter of a mile
Dirt roads at each intersection , a lonely state highway
for riding bicycles and collecting empty pop bottles
Watching afternoon Whitetail Does from July cornfields ,
carving walking sticks from Hickory , climbing
Crabapple trees for midday snacks , canoeing trips on
the Indian Creeks
Where do memories find rest as the body quietly withers away

The fast tempo of hummingbirds in flower buds
Loud repetition of woodpecker thuds

Buzzing hum from hardworking bees
While robins sing in synchronized keys
All accompanied by the swishing of leaves in the trees

There is no better symphony
Than that of nature working in harmony

In one strike
In a split second of time
Heaven turns into a hell

I
Try to
celebrate
but art is hard
to
debate

When blood
was used
to create
These
shadows
and
twisted
lines

I opened myself up and pulled my ribs to the side
        Trying to find something that matters.
                   Something to stick to.
A religion,               a belief,
                |Anything
And in the              dark empty space
                |I found
Whatever                  led me to understand who I                                Thought I was
                **|was already dead.