On Bad Apples

If an orchard
produced this much
rotten fruit

they’d cull the trees
with hatchet and flame

grind the stumps to mulch
till the tailings under
and plant something else
in its place.

— Adam Kamerer

Behind The Scenes

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The Sound of Coffin Nails Pried Up

Your sorrows must not
be shuffled off to dust over
in closets and drawers.

Pull them out.
Make the world know them.

Scrawl love letters to your wounds
on the sides of skyscrapers,
so the whole city must stare at them,
so the mayor and the aldermen
and the meter maids must stare at them.

Stamp your feet so hard the subways rattle,
scream so loud the windows rattle,
tear out so much of your hair
the birds in the park will never want
for nesting.

Grief yourself hollow
but make sure they remember why.

This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.