Fruit

The plum, the fig, the peach
        infusedin the grapes of my
                        heartblood,

rounding an arc of content
        dis integrating particles of
        dis integrated earth
                        and sweetsun's dew.

The sweetsweatfarmer's        kindness
                        dissolving into
                        soft jams of shit in my
                        guttunnel.

Thanksto     the orchardists.
Thanksto     the buzzbees.
Thanksto     the claygranite.
Thanksto     the starfire.
Thanksto     the liquid.
Thanksto     the leatherhands.
Thanksto     the exhaustion.
Thanksto     the stockingwell.
Thanksto     the pickingpack stowestack.
Thanksto     the tall Latino.
Thanksto     the un numbered more,

        my bonebag thrives another day.

                    Shanti!

                    Santé!