Because apples stack so nicely I'd like to
stack some under your skin. Your legs, skull, chest

full of apples, the yellow kind covered in spots and full
of lumps. Just one red, shiny

perfect one that shifts as it moves through your
body. And then trying to tell where, in which of your

limbs exactly it is hidden, and every time I guess right
to take it out, take

a bite from it, trifling, true, but times infinity makes it undeniably
desecrated.

Translation: Paul Vincent, in collaboration with the author