Apples

Solemn breaths expired as trumpets - tantrumed - blew,

the hollow empire unfurled its plump coils.

do no trust the crickets - HEAR THAT?!

Quarter given by their quarterly quartet, is null,

not that, the empire won't spoil,

it's just that the apples, after their daily executions,

grow weary of not seeing a doctor.

What if the paper read you too?

You're inspired - by cue - to dismiss her,

liberties...

She tells you to be diverse - damn liberals!

They could use som'a'them conservatives.

Hark!! Next will be the barrages of birds among ye kites.

Why so sharply doth you prod good sir?

For I am not an apple...

Your. Sensors. Detect. My. Heart. Rate. Stable.

Only for those moments I was...

Able.

Oh, hello doctor, I had the oddest dream.