Cyanide

 

CYANIDE

Somewhere 
fallen from 
            trees

Apples embellished in
slow dripping sugar stains,
coaxed outwards by an orange sun,
fondled by tongue tips of ants, 
adorned in gold bees 
wafting heat, making music 
with their bodies 

Somewhere 
wind is tearing at husks 
spinning soil into 
little riots, 
pulling upwards into 
falling skies of dawn 

Its breath rapping 
at farm dust 
clinging to barns 
with doors the shape 
of open mouths
waiting ,
to receive a 
harvest

Bring us your nightfall 
with cool of night 
ants portaging forth 
apple cores with 
tempting fragile bruised skin

Crawling keepers of dirt 
bearers of tiny wings 
assemble the harvest of daylight
mound of heavy and light
In that place

Birth from fruit
boisterous life 
intrepid passion,
skin, bone
hair and nails
pulsing blood
and lifeline

Lay ear to that chest
split it in half
by tip of finger
sharp tongue,
find
seeds within

Breathe in its ear
knowledge of
sweetness and poison

“You are apples sweet on the branch
rotted,
fermented vessel of honey
     when fallen,
with cyanide in the seed
of your heart

     This, is the design of man”

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