Fallen Fruit

Fallen Fruit read by Jonathan Moya
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.)