And lose the name of action

An apple steadily rolls
across the dinner table,
garners speed and attention,
but my mind is blank,
not a worthwhile idea
to lay a new place for.

The chairs mock
with their empiness,
as vacant as some white sheet,
both formless without an ident
of humanity,

yet as the apple gathers pace,
rumbles over the edge,
a hand reaches out instinctively,
would that we all could be
reactionary.

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