Fallen Fruit

It starts with the apple 
falling to the earth,
dropped after the bite.

From the rotting hole on 
its flesh, the worm 
wriggles forth to the light.

The stem dies.
The leaf turns gray
and floats away.

The worm penetrates 
deep into the ground,
fertilizing the crypt.

The Death Moth emerging
 flies to a veined sky  
fresh with purple pulp.

 This earth will never 
be green again or brown,
just a muddy red

pulsating for spilled blood,
a fleshy stoma erupting from 
the incarnadine loam below.

Here, Cowhorn Peppers growing  
in shriveled J phalanxes
will seek connection

with the spermatic growth 
atop of abandoned tubers
in this fallow field.     

Here, Casabas will weep 
into half moons
of larval flow .

Here, Strawberries 
will warp into white
moldy skulls and   

Sour grapes will
shrink to bitter 
raisins.

Each defective fruit,
these forlorn 
rootless objects,

ravaged by time and
imperfect by circumstance, 
will reside in sad familiarity.



(My Imagining seeing the overgrown and fallow Garden of Eden that contains the bones and dust of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel.)