Conformist

When inspiration runs
deep enough to evoke
some symbiotic sense of
pseudo-self-importance,
does the seed create the apple
or does the apple harbor
the seed?
Cores are unstable fence posts
barely keeping up the boundary
between invention and
imagined, or elation and
tradition.
Shared enthusiasm serves
fuel like wine at the
dinner table, while stagnant
dreams are discarded
like leftovers that were
kept in the back of the
fridge—forgotten in
a rush to create new
meals; abandoned like
railroad tracks.
Originality flourishes like a trumpet
played at dawn with the clouds
parting for the sun to strut through
the gap they make;
jumps through flaming hoops
to plant trees in urban parks;
hollows out pumpkins to
protect young brains
from ultraviolet radiation.
Systemic conformity paints
a picture of order like
biological wonders;
like the marked
formality and structure
of seeds inside
an apple.