If my heart were a fruit, it would surely be this one…or a skull hanging in a tree.

I will win the race

down to the ground.

I will catch every feather

on the way down.

I will kiss and be whipped

by every spider web,

hit by every floating seed.

I will ripen in the fall

with out a sound,

and wear the earths impact on my face;

the grass will smile…

(waiting for your taste)

You will fall more slowly,

through power lines

of every kind,

woven lies in

peoples eyes,

and fabrics that will out live your skin.

Tin cans and polished sand

your teeth riding on the dash,

such a rush to

your last smile!

Only to wait for

the birds, the flies

and the rot,

the sweet scent that will encase your bones

as you are swallowed, slowly and whole.

I am a skull hanging in a tree,

you are a skull

hanging by your feet.

I will race you down

to the mouth of the ground,

where we will finally meet.



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