[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.