Maybe he knew what he was doing
When he got himself put close to the ground
No legs? No problem
No arms? Hands? Opposable thumbs?
Shunned for all time
Over that whole fruit thing
Maybe, but whatever.
Who actually gives damn.
Because what he’s got
That we don’t got
Is a whole skin that can be crawled out of
And left behind.
Just a husk on the ground
A wisp of the life that was
Like a peel of that fated apple
just barely missed the trash can.
A thing you’re done with
And can inch away from slowly
Like the ashes of that old shadow
That does not quite, exactly fit
To the dust again