Decay placement contends with triangular aesthetics this balance invites singular expressions to explain away the nose dive to reach peculiar wafts spreading about the musty essence deep inside the Hollow Earth. A 

hand drops its grasp on a handful of metallic screws, performs Tai-Chi movements and perfumes the tendrils of inky suspensions, drawn by painted fingernails through what’s invisible to naked vision. But

among the contenders for space, a name holds its place beside the infected smile owned by another name whose relevance to piercing tongues exposes the metallic scent resembling fingers scented by metallic screws

as blood in the mouth of babes.

Realtor set a bowl of lemons on a console table

She placed by the entryway 

Of her

Client’s apartment building. Potential buyers

Toured the facility, noticed the lemons 

And conducted debates

As to whether 

The lemons were real,

Or not. 

Real

Was the mystery

Of plastic,

Or pulp.

While hosting a tour

Realtor bent over

To grab a pen she dropped 

On the floor,

Her bottom bumped

The console table,

Knocked a lemon from the bowl,

And it fell 

Onto the ground.

The sound of its impact

Became new criteria 

To judge 

Pulp or plastic. 

“See…” a buyer said. “I told you they were fake.

No way a real lemon sounds like that when it hits

The floor.” 

“I don’t know.” Partner responded. “I’ve heard some empty lemons

Before.”