yield

[milo]

oh apple-picking once again
as if I'm reaching for a friend

and yet the laddered labor's endless
and I another migrant friendless

"oh sullen servant what's the matter
why can you not just climb your ladder

why must you always reach for more
the light, the dark or Pluto's shore."


another rung compresses seasons
the fungal earth that forces reasons:


the trunk, the hips each branch a jaw, Some
sex to push the apple blossom

and then there's Frost - the killing bite
merchant, peddler, murderous mite

Second is the idle thought
the mushy pungent apple -y rot

and yet another rung of drinking
to put to rest such labored thinking

"come scouse the pubs and let's get pissed
and put aside your stupid list"

and that is fine my thinking's slurred
I can't recall the portent third


I cannot make a thot for thee
I cannot make it to list three

I cannot climb the ladder more
cannot seek the light or shore

so I will lift my cup alone
and let it now unyoke my stone

as graphite yields to clicky keys
and wolfram yields to LED's


and I will yield to one of these
and I will yield to one of these