Aurora 2024

Al Groves

and turn the slop back into a fresh apple like the one I will eat tomorrow.

And the me of tomorrow’s future will lose their ever-loving shit, and they will stand and stare as their glistening brain tries not to implode.

An apple once eaten can never be reformed again especially – as I will think – if it an old mushed-up apple in the bottom of a bucket, the spectral tendrils of time tend to never favor apples in that way. It will be a first. And in knowing that I will be thinking about it the tendrils will caress my face, lean me in, whisper, “sehen Sie? sehen Sie was sie gemacht haben? Sehen sie was Sie machen können?” I will nod, sighing against the time ghost as it pulls away from my face and I will look back at the apple sitting as fresh as it will be tomorrow, and ignoring its calls of “please come here!!! I need you!!! I want you!! oh please!!”

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