Feeling small
and useless
as an
apple's core—you capitulate
and just retire, dis-
inclined,
to rest
supine, out of
sight for a
while some-
place dark
to shore-
up whatever
scant fleshy
substance might
be left
and worth it
to preserve
and vague-
ly reinstall
upon your
eventual and
reluctant re-
emergence,
wearily, and
only then when
you manage
to, grumpily
acquiescing—you still don't
feel great—
so much
as you feel
horribly
real.
And here.
And now and
necessary—as
an apple's core.
