truth

This is God’s honest truth,

which is also a pit full of

arsenic nestled inside

my peaches, cyanide

in the white stars of

my apples, those

poisonous little pits

of cherries shining

like wet stones in

my eyes.

Throw Out

I take the apples

that have grown soft

and with a pitcher’s

stance and fervor

whip them out

the window towards

the trampoline

who knew that

ballooned and bruised

hearts would bounce

into the neighbors’

yard and continue to

rot