Thursday, December 06, 2012

[Poem] Dragon Fruit, Morning Market

A dragon fruit ponders her fine skull,
Flesh roars garishly, seed germinating
Rife with succulent promise.
This mere box of a particolored cosmos,

A cooling square
Ready to ambush gargantuan frogs,
Collapsing on everything

The little deaths,
From saint to slug,
Midmorning philosopher,
Mothers of demons,

Trains of thought,
Forests are a verdant oraboros
Primal, smoking, orgiastic, still finite

So long a witness
How can it be surprised at an end
That is not an ending any more than

A fruit can be sold for her true worth.

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