Don't Cough on My Apple By Todd Colby & Joanna Penn Cooper

Especially towards the end of the Roman Empire,
when it became ever increasingly weak.
Hieroglyphic signs usually are inscribed in circular cartouches,
but they may also acquire complex animated forms.
I am fearsome, but not as much as August 22, 2007.
Back then, on August 22, 2007, I had not one damn thing
to lose, which is a feeling, but also the opposite of
a feeling, which is a canceling out, which is when you
walk around feeling lean, victorious, and invisible to
all but a select few. But there is purpose, and a refined
but repelling animalic odor. You listen to the creaking of wheelbarrows
as you dig for peaches in the shade. Farm away your wings
and grab something with legs. Ruefulness turns us into chumps.
No one fucks a chump, so douse that shit with ambergris and
meet me by the moat, all level-eyed and ready. Or if not
ready, then at least appropriately-scented. Studies show
I can baffle you better than anyone else, including me. But
go, go if you must. There are moments like these that happen
again and again, they just won't stop because they can't stop,
not for you, not for the kids, not even for the knife you use
to slice a chunk of Irish Spring. All men are brothers. Even
you with your whiff of the future, your feathered hair, and your
coppery aftertaste. Embrace me, you fool. Embrace me.