Rolling around unbeknownst to me
is the fig of life’s fruit tree,
Slowly it glides unto thee
where it fertilizes me vivaciously,
of course, for I can’t gain sustenance
living alone without you, hence
here goes the fruit of labor
of generosity
of favor
It’s the food of life, this meat,
of rot and strife and grief
A rotten fruit is necessary
so do not hesitate nor tarry
from your murderous infection
when you smash this sweet confection
it was made for death, you know,
to fester oh so sticky slow
just like I, you and they
will all die some fate-less day
Our pulp to power the dawn
of this new old life way,
here and yet to come
the promise of this juicy plumb.

09/01/2008

Posted on 09/02/2008
Copyright © 2025 Tracy Ellen